All Roads Lead Home
by Vivalatuavita
Summary: Twenty-four-year-old heiress Clarke is hiding out at the Blake farm. Bellamy Blake is fresh out of prison for a crime he didn't commit, arrives to claim the house his grandmother left him, and finds a strange girl living there, all hell breaks loose. He'll try his best to get her to leave, but he's met his match.
1. Chapter 1

Clarke went over the escape list one more time. Silly, it'd been years, but she couldn't help herself. Eight seasons of watching Polis had helped put the plan in place, but if she'd overlooked a step, they'd find her. She focused on the page.

 _Episode 21-Destroy credit and debit cards. Put cash into fake pregnancy bag._ On the day she left, she'd strapped on the false belly, and pulled on an oversized sweatshirt.

 _Episode 18-Keep duffel packed for quick getaway._ For weeks she'd camouflaged the bag by burying it in a box of old stuffed animals.

 _Episode 36-Get fake ID and cosmetology certification._ Even after all this time, Clarke Montgomery still didn't sound right. She chose it by shorting her name into something she could answer by, and Montgomery after her mom's maiden name. If Dad could see her now, he'd frown. But with the bogus identity, she needed to fit the part. And she did. Right down to the blond and pink hair and nose ring.

 _Episode 74, transfer files to flash drive. Pour soda into computer; throw it in the lake, along with cell phone._ Living on waterfront property had made this step easy. She didn't have to lug the desktop too far. Months before, she'd bought a burner phone.

 _Episode 13-Take the bus to Biloxi. Pick up the black metallic Chevy Cruze stored there, then double back to Arkadia, Louisiana._

The timer dinged. Clarke put the notebook away and stared down at the frail woman in the casket. "Did you know Miss Charamel?" She lifted the curling iron and wrapped the final silver-brown strand around the barrel. "I miss her. I'm still living in her house, but it's not the same without her." She fluffed the wisp. "I gave you soft curls around your face, added a little gray eyeshadow, some pink lipstick, and a hint of blush to your cheeks. That's what your son wanted. He gave me strict instructions. I think he was a little nervous because of my style. But no chopped hair, piercings, or black fingernails for you."

Even before Clarke heard the soft trill of Rose Byrne, the click of heels on marble announced her. "Excuse me, but are you finished with Mrs. Kane?"

"Almost."

"Great. Ms. Elliott is waiting." The secretary walked away.

Clarke pulled her leather notebook from her pocket again and opened it. "Have you noticed the euphonious quality of Mrs. Byrne's voice? That's another word for melodious. Or song-like." Not even noon and she'd already used her word of the day. Didn't always work out that way, but lately she'd been on a roll. She marked it off the list.

Myles Foster, heir to Byrne Funeral Chapel, interrupted her thoughts. "Hey, Clarke. My church is having a hamburger dinner tomorrow night, you wanna go?"

Myles was nice enough, but she wasn't interested. Not in the Methodists, hamburgers or him. He was a high school senior, and she was too old for him anyway. She lifted her head, looked him in the eye, and smiled. "No, thank you."

His weak chin dropped, and Clarke guessed what was coming next. Mind racing, she searched for a response. Dad's numerous warnings flashed inside her head. Keep your head up. Make eye contact. Think before you speak. Remember not to be rude. Smile. Say thank you. How could the truth be considered bad manners? But he'd said most people didn't want honesty when it came to personal questions.

The lanky boy leaned against the door jamb. "Why not? You got something else to do?"

"I don't like crowds. I don't like church."

"What you got against it?"

This was the trouble with Dad's instructions. She should have said she didn't find Myles attractive and the conversation would be over. But she had to play this ridiculous game. "Nothing against it. Just organized religion. I remembered I do have plans." That should do it and it wasn't a total lie. She had to finish the mural. Still needed to add the animal version of The Golden Girls into the picture. Clarke didn't think she'd ever seen the old woman happier than when she found out episodes were available online.

"Like what?"

Talk about not taking no for an answer. Clarke wanted to order the gangly, feeble-chinned, soon-to-be-graduate out of the room. She didn't like his persistence. Clarke sat straighter. "I don't date."

He blinked as if the statement shocked him. "Not at all, or just guys?"

That did it. If he only knew the hours she'd put in over the years conditioning herself to not speak her mind. The constant tutoring on how to handle social interaction. If he had a clue about what a freak she was, he wouldn't be interested. She sucked in a deep breath, then spit the words out like they tasted bad. "I do not want to go."

He took a step back and pushed his palms out. "Okay, okay. I get it." He didn't give her time to say anything else, which was fine with her. He spun and disappeared into the corridor.

Clarke turned back to Mrs. Kane. "Sorry about that. At your age, if you could, I'm sure you'd have some good relationship advice." Pulling out her notebook, she scribbled on a sheet of paper, tore it out and folded it. "When you get to Heaven, find my dad, Jake, and give him this." She tucked the note inside the woman's bra. "You can't miss him. He's a big guy. Handsome. Once word gets out you're from Arkadia, he'll probably look you up, if I don't see you again before you leave, have a wonderful trip." Rollers squeaked as Clarke shoved her chair away. She walked to the door and glanced one last time at her client. Yep. Ten years younger. No doubt about it. Mrs. K didn't look a day over eighty. Her son would be happy.

Gathering her cosmetic case, Clarke headed toward room three and referred to the next list: Blue eyeshadow. Blue-black mascara. Mauve lip gloss. Enhance beauty mark on upper lip. Lisa Elliott was only thirty-nine and although there would only be a graveside service, a viewing was planned at six.

She studied the woman's leather motorcycle jacket and low cut tank. Voluptuous breasts swelled over the top. Nothing like formaldehyde to pump up a woman's upper thorax. She removed the pencil from behind her ear, scratched out part of the notes, and rewrote them. Heavy black mascara. Frosted tangerine lipstick. Checking the woman's nails, Clarke grabbed her emery board and got to work.

By the time she finished, Lisa looked like a Harley Harlot. Clarke didn't wear makeup but knew how to use it. Proper shading and contouring made women appear pounds lighter and years younger. She regretted the client couldn't see the magic. She jotted another message, ripped it from her notebook and tucked it into Motorcycle Momma's pocket and zipped it. "Give this to my mother if you see her. You'll recognize her because I think we look alike."

With only a few pictures and Dad's word, she couldn't be sure about that. The older she got, the less she remembered about her mother. The day of her burial, Clarke stayed in the limo. She and her Aunt Jane, her father's only sibling, had played a game of I Spy with My Little Eye. A year later, Jane died. Most of Clarke's life, she'd buried loved ones. Mom, Aunt Jane, Gramps and Gigi, Dad, Miss Charamel. At least she was done with that. There was no one left to bury. Unless she counted The Golden Girls.

She should have given them away, but couldn't bring herself to do it. Miss Charamel had been so kind to insist Clarke keep living in the house, she'd felt obligated to care for the pets. She'd also continued to deposit rent payments each month because Charamel had willed the place to her only grandson, and Clarke didn't want him to think she'd taken advantage of his grandmother's good heart. But it probably wouldn't matter because he was serving a fifteen year prison sentence, and she'd be long gone by the time he showed up.

* * *

Bellamy Blake's biggest regret was that Alex Shumway died before he had a chance to kill himself. Son- of-a-bitch had to go and get cancer. With death looming, he'd found religion and admitted he'd framed Bellamy. Small consolation. At least in prison, with no distractions, Bellamy finished his business degree with a 4.0. But he doubted any major corporation wanted to hire an almost thirty- year-old with no work experience doing anything except summer construction jobs and bussing tables at The Dropship. Especially after being convicted for burning the bar down. Didn't matter he'd been exonerated, according to an article he'd read, twenty percent of people would still think he did it. That was the bad thing about lies. Once people made up their minds, nothing could change it. Not even the truth.

Nothing could give Bellamy back the seven years. Sure, the state had done their part with the annuity and cash settlement, but money couldn't replace lost youth.

Downing his second shot of whiskey, he eyed two leggy brunettes at the end of the bar. The one in the tight black skirt dangled a red stiletto from her toes and bounced it in time with the country tune blaring from the jukebox. The other wore leather pants and twirled a pink umbrella in her drink. Funny how he paid attention to details. When he'd started his sentence, he knew there'd be plenty of things he'd miss.

Like women.

How they looked and smelled and felt. Driving. The freedom to go anywhere he wanted. That's why he'd spent almost a year on the open road riding his Harley letting the wind, rain, and sun restore life to his body. He never imagined missing something as insignificant as color. But when everything is taken, you realize what you've taken for granted.

Both girls had hot pink fingernails, and their skin sparkled. He figured they smelled good, too. Skirt had the best ass, and leather pants had some killer tits. If he didn't make a move, he might have to add them to his misery. Bellamy had a backlog of good times waiting to happen, and he was behind in his count. So far, only forty-six women. The goal of one a week turned out to be harder than he thought. He could have pulled it off, but some nights he was too drunk to care. In four more days, his year of sin would end, and he'd be in Arkadia, Louisiana, at the property his grandmother left him and Octavia. Octavia had no use for it, always preferring the city to the farmhouse, claiming that being in a small town was akin to living under the floorboards. He had plans for the place. Two bedrooms and one bath would be plenty for a while, but he wanted one more of each.

Not that he intended on filling them. A wife and kids were not in his plans. Not by a long shot. In college, he'd fallen hopelessly in love but once his trouble started, she ended up in bed with his best friend. When it came to matters of the heart, women lied and cheated the same as men. He'd learned that the hard way. She didn't even return the one-carat engagement ring. He'd trusted her. He'd trusted Shumway. They'd both screwed him over.

His long-term goal was to get the farmhouse in shape and big enough to appeal to buyers. No need to keep it because it wouldn't be the same without his grandmother. His best memories came from spending time with her. He hated not attending her funeral and saying a proper goodbye, but the state lost the paperwork and didn't find it until it was too late.

The last time he'd visited, the house needed work and after sitting vacant for two years, it was probably more run-down than ever. That was okay. He needed something to fill his days, and he had plenty of experience to do most of the remodel. Once he finished, he'd wish the new owners well, move across the pond to the sixty-two remaining acres and build a small log cabin. Live out his life fishing and hunting answering to no one. Go to bed when he wanted and get up when he pleased.

After years of being told what he could and couldn't do and when to do it, he craved solitude. No more endless noise of inmates or cell doors closing. Wide open spaces and nothing but the sounds of nature waited.

Damn, he was bringing himself down. He needed to get back to the task at hand. Time was running out, and he still had slots to fill. He motioned to the bartender, swallowed another shot, and returned to the math problem.

Four days.

Six women.

Doable.

Tight skirt sent him a smile. If he doubled up, he'd make his quota. Hell, might as well get started.

He rose from the bar stool and ambled over to the ladies. He didn't have a pickup line, but during the past year, he'd learned women had evolved while he'd been out of circulation. Getting to the point was the best approach.

"I have a room across the street. You girls want to take the party over there?"

Tight skirt fiddled with a gold arrow pendant pointing to her breasts and other southern locations.

"You're a big guy. Are you big all over?"

"Nothing like a game of Show and Tell to find out."

She licked her lips. "In that case, I'm Roma, and this is Mel."

"Bellamy." He stuck out his hand and when Roma took it, she stroked his palm with her finger. His cock twitched.

* * *

The next morning he opened his eyes and scanned the room. The girls sprawled next to him, and he was tempted to stay an extra day.

The memory of last night's activities brought a smile. As soon as they'd gotten inside his room, the duo didn't hesitate. No small talk. No games. Just got to what they wanted. Roma started with his shirt, and Mel with his pants. He discovered having two women get him naked was something he liked a lot.

They'd kissed him, licked him, stroked him until he was so hard he thought his dick might rip apart. Roma mounted him first, then Mel, chanting like cheerleaders. Harder. Faster. Don't come.

At two a.m. they woke him with girl on girl action and he got hard quicker than the first time. He didn't think either of them had a purse big enough to carry a double-headed dildo, so he wondered where it came from. But watching them go at it imprinted his brain forever.

Bellamy eased out of bed and went to shower, and as insatiable as Roma and Mel were, he half expected them to join him. But that didn't happen. Shutting the water off, he wrapped himself in a towel. If they were still asleep, he wouldn't wake them. Check out wasn't until two o'clock.

When he returned, the girls were gone. He thought they'd at least say goodbye. His eyes drifted to the dresser and his wallet. Picking it up, he laughed. They'd made off with fifty-two bucks. He couldn't get angry. They were worth a hell of a lot more.

He ran his hand beneath the mattress and pulled out his stash. Two thousand dollars. Silly girls. Ex-cons trust no one.

Stepping outside, he smelled bacon. Just what he needed after last night's workout. Three rounds with the BFF's had taken their toll. He removed his last cigarette and tossed the package into the blue trash barrel at the corner of the building. He should give up the bad habit, and he would. Later.

It occurred to him, if he counted each round with R&M, then he'd already reached his goal. The pressure was off. With an early start and few stops, he could make it to Arkadia in one day. Grab a quick breakfast. Crank up the Harley. Hit the road. He couldn't wait to see the place. Enjoy the seclusion and relax in his grandmother's old claw-foot tub. That's what he loved about Arkadia. Everything remained the same.

Never any surprises.

* * *

From her workshop window, Raven saw dust billowing before the car came into view. Usually, her friend Clarke, walked through the woods, but today, she had groceries to pick up. Clarke had claimed she hated grocery shopping, but after seeing her reaction to crowds, she wondered if that was the case. As hard as Clarke tried to look the part of a rebel, she couldn't pull it off. More like a teenager playing dress-up. Even the ring dangling from her small straight nose, couldn't offset the big innocent blue eyes that dominated her face.

She revealed nothing, but Raven thought the girl was on the run from something or someone. She decided once they were friends for a while, Clarke would be more forthcoming, but it'd been over three years, and the only thing Raven had learned was that Clarke was unusual and had a good heart.

Didn't know what connection Clarke had to Miss Charamel, and the old woman never said, but when she got sick, Clarke cared for her until the end.

Once Raven discovered the gifted girl's artistic ability, she'd asked for help with packaging her soaps and lotions. All she needed was a break to get the attention of a major chain, and the right presentation could be the key. Making the stuff was fun and all, but she really wanted her own garage one day, and to do that, she had to save money. She was helping Jacapo Sinclair to restore his old '63 Buick Riviera, but she only had so much time to herself. At least with her own garage, she could afford a babysitter or a nanny.

Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of Tommy as he burst through the trees, stick sword in hand, towel cape pinned around his neck, fighting an imaginary foe. The child was the love of her life and she was thankful he was happy playing with common things, but he wouldn't always be six. As he got older, he'd want what other kids had, and she wouldn't be able to afford them, unless she got her business off the ground—or accepted the marriage proposal from a man she didn't love.

Not a single thing wrong with Finn. He had a thriving insurance business and got along well with her son. Many in town speculated Tommy was his, but he wasn't. Finn had been interested in her since high school, but they'd never dated until six months ago, and he'd proposed on the first date. Wasn't fair to keep putting him off, but she couldn't accept. Not yet.

Clarke pushed open the door and strolled inside. She never wore anything but black, a harsh contrast to her delicate features. Despite being short, she was pretty, but didn't seem to care about her appearance, which was another incongruity since she worked at making others look good.

"What's up?"

Clarke shoved a folder forward. "Here are the drawings."

Raven thumbed through them and stared at her friend with tears in her eyes.

Clarke's shoulders drooped. "If you don't like them, I can do more."

Raven rushed from behind the table and threw her arms around the artist. "You're a genius. This is exactly what I had in mind."

Clarke stiffened for a second, then relaxed into her friends embrace. "Oh. Okay."

Raven pushed away and laid the sketches on the counter. "I can't decide which is my favorite. The goat in the bubble bath or the one rubbing lotion on her face. And the way you've put the Arkadia inside the outline of Louisiana is perfect." She gathered the pages and pressed them to her chest. "I knew they'd be great, but they're even better than I imagined."

The door swung wide, and Raven's lifelong friend, Harper, flew in like she was on her way to a shoe sale.

"I hate to break up this love fest, but I have something to show y'all." She stuck out her hand to display a bracelet. Raven tried to look, but Harper launched into an animated conversation. She rotated her hands in the air as if directing traffic "All this talk you've been doing about a home-based business got me to thinking I should come up with something. I thought about a calendar. They never go out of style and everybody needs one. You know, get some hunks to pose in the buff, but that's been done a hundred times two. Besides, I made a list and only came up with two hot guys in all of Arkadia."

Early evening light coming through the window glinted off the fake gems in Harper's creation. She shook her head, and golden curls bounced around her face.

"Then I had this brilliant idea to use animals instead of men. Everybody is a sap for furry creatures. I could capture pictures of dogs taking a crap and call it 'Shit Happens.' I'd only need twelve and there's way more than that in town."

Raven started to speak, but Harper waved her off. She was on a roll and when she got this way, there was no stopping her. "I know what you're going to say. There's a calendar app." She flapped both hands. "Sure there is, but I could get my own made and still make a ton of money. But then I thought, heck, I should find something like you have. You know. Connect it to my roots. Louisiana and Arkadia, so this is my original design."

She held her arm out again and dangled her wrist in front of them. Raven and Clarke inspected it.

"How do y'all like it? It's a beer bling bracelet, and it's just the beginning. I'll do rings, necklaces, belts, cuff links, key chains, beer openers, the list is endless." She lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. "I can get the beer caps for free. I've already talked to Jasper at the Grounders. He said he'd be glad for me to have them."

Harper's excitement should have been contagious, but Raven wasn't sure how big a market was out there for bottle caps and rhinestones, but then again, no one could have predicted the success of Crocs, the ugliest footwear ever.

The perky blond widened her eyes and raised her voice two octaves. "Oh! This is the best part. I have the perfect name for my jewelry line. Are you ready for it?" She allotted a dramatic pause for their response. They both nodded.

Palms out, fingers spread, she announced it as if on a marquee. "Louisiana Harper's! Doesn't that sound awesome! It's destiny."

Clarke pulled her brows together. "I thought your destiny was to teach second graders."

"Well, that's what I went to school for, because they didn't offer a degree for entrepreneurship. Raven can tell you, I don't make much more than she does substituting. This jewelry idea could be big. Really big. I might end up on the Today Show. Just imagine, I, Harper Ambrosia McIntyre, could single-handedly put Arkadia, Louisiana, population 403, on the map."

The way she punctuated the air with her finger as she talked, proved she'd picked up some of her father's pulpit skills.

Clarke rolled her eyes.

Harper smiled at Raven. "Well, me and your Nanny Goat Soap line."

Her exuberance always made Raven feel better. "Thanks for including me. I think it's a great idea. Maybe you can convince Clarke to design your labels. Look what she did for me."

Harper studied the drawings. "Holy hell, these are fantastic." She gave Clarke her puppy dog eyes. "Would you do some for me?"

"Sure."

"I'll dance at your wedding."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't have a clue, it's just something my granny says when you do something nice for her. I gotta get going. While I was checking for hunks, Monty Green asked me out. We're driving over to Breaux Bridge to eat at that new Mexican place."

The jewelry mogul left with as much gusto as when she entered.

Reaching into her apron pocket, Raven removed papers, and handed them to Clarke. "I got your shopping and banking done. Here are the receipts."

"Thanks. I need to go, too. I want to clean out a few of the Ark bird houses before it gets dark. They'll be sending scouts out soon."

"Let me help get your bags."

* * *

A feeling Clarke hadn't felt in a while bubbled in her chest. _Pride_. Raven loved the drawings. Not since Charamel died had anyone praised Clarke's artistic ability. A compliment and recommendation from her friend meant a lot. The brown-eyed beauty worked hard as a substitute teacher and convenience store clerk. In what little spare time she had, she ran her goat milk business. All that, and raising Tommy. When Raven's mom couldn't babysit, sometimes Clarke helped out. He was a good kid and he liked to draw as much as she did.

She wondered about his dad, but Raven never mentioned him. It was as if the kid had been an immaculate conception. Any man who couldn't fall in love with someone like Raven must have a problem. Her long dark hair, olive skin, and high cheekbones, belonged on magazine covers. And the fact that she was a mechanic and could fix cars better than some of the best, she was downright marriage material.

By the time Clarke got home and put away the groceries and fed the cats, it was six o'clock. Still enough daylight left to get some boxes ready. Over the years, Miss Charamel had chaired the committee to promote building and mounting little Noah's Ark ships along every county road. Because of her efforts, this little hick town was the Bluebird Capital of Louisiana.

Clarke gathered her supplies and headed to the fence row. She raised the lid of the first box and found the hinge screws loose. She made short work of tightening them. If Dad could see her working with hand tools, he'd laugh. Until she moved in with Charamel, she hadn't held a screwdriver or pliers.

Clarke always thought you hung a birdhouse where you wanted. Turned out, Bluebirds were picky. The homes needed to be mounted in sunny, open spaces at least twenty-five feet apart. She dug out the old nesting straw and dumped it in her bucket, then lowered the lid.

By sunset, she had all but ten boxes clean but she'd save them for another day. Still had plenty of chores before she could lounge in a nice hot bath.

Just before midnight, she connected the iPod to the pill speaker and cranked up the music. That was a benefit of living in a secluded area. No neighbors to complain.

Sinking low in the water, she closed her eyes, inhaled a mixture of almond, coconut and honey, while Halsey crooned on about her demons.

* * *

The closer Bellamy got to Charamel's the faster he drove. He'd been on the road for fourteen hours and was ready for the hot bath and feather bed waiting. As he turned onto the home stretch, excitement filled his chest. He barreled over the narrow bridge where he and Octavia used to catch tadpoles, then past Marcus Kane's hayfield. The last few miles flew by. It'd be the first time he'd seen the old house in over nine years. Charamel'd always said she'd leave it to him, but he'd never anticipated when that would be, because he didn't want to think about her dying.

Silhouetted by the moon, the homestead looked eerie and an odd feeling passed over Bellamy. The bathroom light was on, and as he brought the motorcycle to a stop, he wondered whose car was parked in the drive. Maybe Charamel had hired a caretaker, but it was after midnight. Strange hour for maintenance duties. He removed his helmet, dismounted, unstrapped his duffel, and stepped onto the porch. He found the hidden hook holding the house key, then unlocked the front door and slipped inside.

Nothing seemed disturbed. Actually, the place looked neater than he'd ever seen. Charamel had a lot of talents, but housekeeping wasn't her strong suit. She'd rather be outside digging in the dirt. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he noticed more changes. When did his grandmother get a big screen TV? And computer?

Music played from the bedroom. He edged down the short hallway and stepped to the open bathroom door.

A girl, who didn't look more than twenty, lay in Gran's tub with her eyes closed. Bubble clouds floated over her body, barely covering her breasts.

Shame thickened in his throat. He shouldn't be looking at her, but he couldn't turn away. He didn't know if it was the shock of seeing a stranger here, or that the intruder was just a girl. Whatever it was, he finally found his voice.

"Who the hell are you?"

* * *

FIRST OFF, I just want to say thank you to Tammy (yourmomshouse on ao3) who BETA'd the hell out of this. SERIOUSLY. If it wasn't for her, this story would be in my hard drive, or as I like to call it, my graveyard of unfinished stories. Thanks for listening to my rants and dealing with my cliffhangers at inopportune moments. Sorry. Also thanks to my friend, Emma, who read all 96k of this story to give me an opinion/fresh eyes without even being a fan of t100 (and for listening to me gripe about the show and this fic for the past couple of months). If I could, I'd make sure you'd both have Bellamy Blake under your Christmas tree with a bow... and nothing but a bow. (Okay, maybe King Arthur/Bradley James for you, Em).

AND, thanks to you guys for reading. As this story is already finished, I'll update once a week. Sometimes, more. This will have eventual smut in it, so if that makes you uncomfortable, you can still read this as I'll tag the chapter when that happens so you know to skim/avoid.


	2. Chapter 2

Clarke recognized Bellamy Blake from the stack of pictures Miss Charamel kept in a leather box on the mantle. But he looked different in the flesh.

A little south of six feet, he wore faded jeans, topped with a fleece-lined jacket. Days worth of stubble surrounded full lips. Dark brown hair curled beneath the edge of a knit beanie while cold brown eyes stared back.

Clarke rose from the water, reached for the towel hanging on the rack next to him, and wrapped herself, tucking in the corner to secure it.

"Did you escape?"

He blinked like it was stupid question, but it wasn't. Newspaper clippings she'd read said he'd been denied parole twice because he wouldn't admit guilt.

He clenched his teeth. "I'm asking the questions. Who are you?"

"Clarke."

He half-grinned as if the name was a punch line, then snarled. "Clarke? I don't think so."

"Well, I don't care what you think. That's my name and I live here because Miss Charamel said I could."

"New owner. New rules. Get your shit and get out."

His lips barely moved, and she thought of all the villains she'd seen on _Polis_ , but despite his demeanor, he didn't scare her.

She dried off, folded the towel and laid it on the commode, then pushed past him into the bedroom where she took panties from the dresser and stepped into them. Next, she pulled a Madonna tee-shirt over her head. "No."

"This is my house and you're trespassing."

His voice was low-pitched, and when she faced him, his mouth was clamped into a thin line. A muscle in his jaw worked. She reminded herself this was a man just out of prison, yet she still didn't feel threatened. She folded her arms under her breasts. "It's almost one o'clock. I have work tomorrow. We can talk about this in the morning."

At first, he didn't say anything, just scanned the full length of her body, and she felt more naked than she'd been minutes ago. He locked his eyes on hers, and his gaze darkened "I'm twice your size. You know I can throw your scrawny ass out the front door and you won't be able to do anything about it."

"I know. But you won't." Turning back the covers, she crawled into bed.

* * *

Too road weary to deal with conflict, Bellamy cursed under his breath and slammed the bathroom door. Where did she get off telling him what to do? Stubborn as Charamel, and his grandmother didn't take shit from anyone. He couldn't help but admire that quality. Yet, this little wisp surprised him. He could chew her up and spit her out, but she hadn't flinched. Hell, she wasn't even embarrassed to be naked in front of him. She'd taken her own sweet time drying off, then when she'd pulled on those black bikinis, he had to force himself to look away.

He drained the tub, refilled it, and spied the bottle sitting on the sink. He brought it to his nose and inhaled. Squeezing two squirts into the water, bubbles began to form. Damn. He sank into the foam leaving nothing but head and knees above water. He was too big for the claw-foot, but it felt good to lie back and let the heat loosen his bones.

His eyelids weighed heavy and a vision of stranger's curvy, naked body swam before his eyes. He dunked his head. Maybe the heat would melt the image away. A ridiculous name like Clarke didn't fit. There was something going on with her and he didn't need complications. She had to go. But this first encounter told him bullying wouldn't work, so he'd have to come up with a new tactic.

* * *

By the time Clarke left for work the next morning, Bellamy was snoring to high heaven. His arrival created a problem she'd have to face, but not yet. She had a year left in her plan and wasn't leaving without a fight.

He should still be locked up. If he escaped, he was crazy to come here. Polis episodes 42, 63, and 89 proved cops checked with relatives first.

As she backed out of the drive, she noticed the faded bumper sticker on his motorcycle. She squinted to make out the words.

It only seems kinky the first time.

Something in her chest fluttered, and she reminded herself how Charamel described Bellamy. A good boy. Last night, he'd not followed through with his threat of throwing her out, so maybe that was still true. Once he saw what a helpful housemate she was, he'd want her to stay. She'd already started making herself indispensable.

Fifteen minutes later, she wheeled into the funeral home parking lot. Myles' truck wasn't there, so that was a relief. Perhaps her refusal to his last invitation finally got through to him. She pulled her sweater tight around her to ward off the chill.

"Good morning, Mrs. Byrne."

"Good morning, Clarke. Here are the details for Lemkin, Ridley, and Pascal. All of their services are scheduled for tomorrow, with visitations this evening."

Clarke tucked the list in her jeans pocket. Since the only funeral home in the neighboring town of Breaux Bridge closed, business at Byrne had picked up. She wouldn't complain. She liked the extra hours.

Grabbing her cosmetic bag, she headed to Room One where Riana Lemkin waited. She glanced at the info sheet. Age thirty-six. Died during surgery. Her eyes widened. Riana used to be Reece. She strolled back to the office and poked her head inside. "Uh, Mrs. Byrne. I just want to double check on the Lemkin body. Am I supposed to do female makeup? I mean, Reece became Riana. Right?"

The secretary cupped her mouth and leaned forward. "Well, unfortunately he… she… didn't live long enough for the change to be made. They prepped him, but before they could remove the appendage, he suffered a massive heart attack. Physically, he's still male and must be listed that way on the paperwork, but his partner insisted he go out as a woman. Oh, and there shouldn't be a problem with facial hair. He'd been taking hormones for months."

"Okay."

Clarke remembered a television interview with Billy Graham where he'd described Heaven. He'd said it would be whatever made us happy. For him, beautiful golf courses. She didn't know if that was true, but he knew more about the subject than she did, so she'd take his word. Since Riana's funeral would be her girly debut for a lot of folks, Clarke wanted to make her as beautiful as possible. She figured Riana deserved to look like the woman she wanted to be upon arrival at the Pearly Gates.

"Riana, I want to do something really special for you." Clarke chose two bottles of nail polish and shook them. "I'm going to tessellate your nails. That's my word of the day. It means to form or arrange in a checkered pattern." An hour later, with the manicure finished, Clarke applied the lipstick shade, Peach Petal, then highlighted it with Silver Lights. She was always amazed at what the finishing touch did for a woman. Adding the right lip color made all the difference. She rolled her chair away and swept her eyes over the final results. Platinum-tipped blond hair. Warm Umber blended with Golden Mink eyeshadow. Coral Tango blush. As Harper would say, holy hell. Riana looked hot.

Clarke tore a page from her notebook and slipped it inside the woman's camisole. "If you meet Miss Charamel, give her this. She needs to know her grandson showed up last night. I think he broke out of prison, but don't tell her that part. Anyway, you have a nice trip and I hope you like what I've done with your makeup."

* * *

Rain pounded on the tin roof and woke Bellamy. He stretched, then burrowed deep into the down mattress. It was the best night's sleep he'd had in nine years. Even without liquor or sex, he'd had no nightmares. Then he remembered the kid and his attitude flared. Swinging his feet to the floor, he grabbed his watch from the side table. He wanted to settle the squatter situation ASAP. He focused on the dial. Almost noon. Dammit. She'd said she had work, but that couldn't be right. She should be in school.

He hated that he had to pass through her bedroom to get to the bathroom. Her bedroom. Hell no. He couldn't think of it that way. When he got to the door, he stopped and peeked in. The bed was made.

After he relieved himself, he went back to look for his clothes from last night. Nowhere to be found, he pulled a clean shirt and jeans from his bag and put them on. She must have taken them. But why? Easy answer. From the looks of the house, she didn't want anything out of place. Good. His messiness alone should be enough incentive for her to leave.

He strolled to the kitchen to make coffee and hoped he remembered how. On the counter lay a note.

 _Do not let the cats out of the laundry room._

 _Do not feed them._

 _Pancakes on stove. Microwave for 56 seconds. Syrup and honey on table._

 _Coffee ready. Push the on button._

 _When finished, please rinse your dirty dishes and load in dishwasher._

 _Wipe table off, careful to not get crumbs on floor._

 _Drape the dish cloth over the faucet to dry._

 _I'll run the dishwasher and clean the coffee pot when I get home._

 _You're welcome._

 _Clarke_

He stared at the instructions. _You're welcome?_ He needed a cigarette. And something stronger than coffee. But first, he'd eat breakfast. No need to let it waste. He warmed up the stack of pancakes per her instructions, enough to feed a small army, and damn if they weren't as good as his grandmother's. He could almost see the Charamel from his youth in her housecoat and slippers at the stove, her hair just starting to salt and pepper.

Finishing his coffee, he pushed back from the table. Whoever she was, she could cook. But that still wasn't enough reason to let her stay. He should check her room. As owner, it was his right. He sprinted down the hallway and turned first to her closet.

Depressing. Six pairs of jeans. A dozen tee-shirts. Three sets of shoes. Hell, she barely had more clothes than he did. He moved to the bureau and opened a drawer. Dangling a pair of bikinis from his finger, heat crawled up his neck. He dropped them and turned his attention to the side table.

After digging through every drawer, careful not to mess anything up, he found nothing. He folded his arms and stared at the scenery painted on the wall. She'd captured the view from the window. Trees. Shed. Garden spot. Charamel standing between a row of pole beans and tomatoes. His throat tightened. She had on the pink bonnet and flowered apron he'd seen her wear a thousand times. Beside her, two cats circled her ankles.

He got down on all fours to look under furniture. There were paint cans behind the chair. He rose and lifted them out. One didn't have a speck of drips and wasn't heavy. He took his army knife from his pocket and pried off the lid. Fuck. It was stuffed with cash and a few pictures. He dumped it onto the spread. All hundred-dollar bills. Had to be thousands here.

His mind raced. Thief? Drug dealer? He picked up the stack of photos. A couple with a baby. On the back, something had been written, but marked out. He held it up to the light, but couldn't make out any words.

Dammit.

He stuffed it all back and replaced it. No reason to speculate. Didn't matter. As soon as she got home, she was leaving and taking the cats with her. Right now, he had errands. Leisure time was over and he was ready to get started on the house. Arkadia didn't offer much in the way of building supplies, but neighboring city, Breaux Bridge had plenty. Before heading there, he'd stop in town for some smokes and a bottle of whiskey because he had a feeling he was going to need a drink.

* * *

One pass through town showed everything Arkadia offered, everything centered around boat names and Noah's Ark.

Bellamy thought they'd gone overboard on the theme, but Charamel had claimed it made them unique. Yeah, uniquely nuts. He wheeled a U-turn and he slid his bike into a spot near the entrance.

A small bell tinkled as he pushed open the door. There wasn't a clerk in sight, but someone yelled a greeting from the rear of the store. Bellamy strolled to the liquor section and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniel's. Before he could return to the front, a woman came around the corner, and stopped in her tracks.

"Bellamy? When…what…how…?"

It took a second for him to recognize the dark-haired beauty. "Raven? Is that you? You've grown up." This was awkward. Did he hug her? Shake her hand? Pat her on the shoulder? Shit. It'd been so long since he'd seen someone he knew, especially a woman, he didn't know what to do. He waited for her to make a move.

She put her hand to her throat and drew a quick breath. "You, too. Did you get paroled?"

"No. I'm free and clear. Guilty party finally came forward."

She moved past him and stepped behind the counter. She remembered the devil-may-care Bellamy Blake of her childhood, but never thought it was him that burned The Dropship down. She had been friends with Octavia, and knew he would never be so reckless when he had his sister to think of. She'd be hard pressed to find anyone who loved their sister as much as Bellamy did. "Just getting into town?"

"Got here last night." He set his purchase next to the register. "Give me a carton of Marlboros." He tried to remember the last time he'd seen her. She'd been just a teenager. Beautiful even then, she'd only improved. He glanced at her hand. No ring.

She laid the box next to the liquor and took Bellamy's money. "Oh. You've been to the house?"

He accepted his change. "Yeah. Had a surprise waiting for me."

"You met Clarke."

Before he could answer, someone interrupted.

Raven looked over the new customer's shoulder and spoke to Bellamy. "I'm due for a break. Meet me out back at the picnic table."

He put the bottle in his saddlebag, moved the cycle around the building, lit a cigarette and took a long drag, then blew the smoke into the air. The breeze floated it into the bare limbs of a tall poplar tree. The mornings and evenings were chilly, but by noon each day, temps hovered in the low seventies.

A pair of birds flew to a nearby box nailed to a post. The male poked his head in the hole, then looked at the female. She fluttered to the fence wire and chattered. He went inside, joined her, then sailed back to the boat shaped house again as if coaxing her inside. Bellamy shook his head. Damn bird couldn't get the female to go in the house and Bellamy couldn't get one to leave.

Raven came around the end of the building pulling her jacket tighter. She stuck her hands in the pockets. "So, you don't look too bad. I guess you held your own in prison."

He sucked on his cigarette, then flicked ashes. "Oh yeah. It was a real party. Seven years. Non-stop."

"Sorry. I didn't mean to make light of it."

He smirked. "I know what you meant. Been out a year, and had time to gain weight and get over the beat-down persona. But enough about my exciting life, what about you? Don't see a ring. Thought you'd be married with babies by now."

"Not yet, but close."

"Don't see an engagement ring either."

Raven laughed. "Okay, here's the thing. I'm involved, and he's asked, but I haven't answered yet. Still considering it."

Bellamy sat next to her. "That tells me a lot."

"What does that mean?"

He wanted to tell it meant she must not love the guy or she wouldn't be hesitating. He remembered her being the same age as Octavia. That'd make her twenty-five. Old enough to settle down, and there couldn't be that many available dudes in Arkadia. But the way she pulled her brows together and frowned, Bellamy decided it was a subject she didn't want to discuss. "Forget it. None of my business."

"No, that's okay. Here's the Cliffsnotes of my life since I last saw you. Almost have my teaching degree via online courses. I work part-time here and substitute at the elementary school, while trying to get a bath and body products line off the ground. I'm dating Finn Collins. Did you ever meet him?"

Bellamy wanted to ask more, but from her tone, figured he'd pushed his luck. Bottom line, she wasn't available. "Don't think so."

"So, was Clarke surprised to see you?"

"Didn't seem to be. Who is she and why is she living at Charamel's?"

Raven plopped her butt onto the tabletop and planted her feet on the bench. "All I know is a few years ago, your grandmother told me a girl was coming to live with her. Asked me to make friends. So I did."

Bellamy cocked his head. "You don't know where she came from or how Charamel knew her?"

"Nope. But it was the best thing that could have happened. Six months after she moved in, Charamel got diagnosed with cancer. Had it not been for Clarke, your grandmother would have spent her last days in a nursing home. She would have hated that."

He pulled more nicotine into his lungs. "I don't get it. Charamel didn't say anything in her letters. Octavia never mentioned meeting a caretaker at the funeral."

"Clarke didn't go to the service. She works at the funeral home. Probably said her goodbye there because that's the only place she goes. She's practically a recluse."

"Where the hell did she come from, and why is she here?"

Raven shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't know. Charamel told me about her a few days before she arrived and asked me to look out for her. I asked Charamel, but she wouldn't give me a straight answer, and Clarke just clams up at any personal questions."

"Why isn't she in school?"

"She's older than you think."

"How old?"

"Oh, shit! Today's her birthday. I totally forgot. She's twenty-four."

"Twenty-four? No way."

"She has her cosmetology license. Are you going to let her stay?"

"Hell, no. Something's not right about her, and when it all hits the fan, I don't need the grief."

She turned the full force of the Raven Reye's glare on him, one he recognized well from when Octavia would come home crying because someone made fun of her hand-me-downs. He had wanted to do something for her so badly, but he couldn't exactly knock out some seventh graders. Raven had no such qualms in bloodying up her classmates. "I know prison changes a person, but you aren't that much of an asshole, Bellamy. She may be odd, but she's a good person. Charamel loved her, and if she'd had any idea you'd get out this soon, I bet she would have wanted you to accept her."

Bellamy thought of the money he'd found. Wasn't like the kid didn't have the means to go somewhere else. "Well, I don't feel sorry for her," he grumbled. "She's freeloaded long enough. Time for her to find a new home."

Raven checked her watch and hopped off the table, leveling him up. "She isn't freeloading. Still deposits a rent payment into Charamel's bank account every month. A clear sign of integrity."

Bellamy dropped his cigarette and ground it into the dirt with the toe of his boot. "You don't want me to kick her out, do you?"

The breeze caught threads of Raven's hair and blew them across her face. She raked the strands behind her ear and looked up at him. "I understand your concern and I agree she's hiding. But if she had anyone else to depend on, I think she'd already be gone. Maybe you should give it a try. As private as she is, you might not even know she's there."

Bellamy stared until Raven disappeared. Damn. He hated she was taken. As small as the town was, there wouldn't be much to choose from. Most women his age were already married, or divorced, usually with children in tow. He didn't need the responsibility of raising another guy's kids. Hell, he wasn't sure if he wanted to produce any of his own.

At least the spot-in-the-road had a bar, and if he remembered right, the neighboring town had several. Since he was headed to Breaux Bridge, he'd find out. Just because he wasn't traveling anymore didn't mean he had to give up women. Another reason he needed to get rid of the problem houseguest.

* * *

Diana Sydney-Griffin held her desk phone to one ear and her cell to the other. "You listen to me, Nygel. I've been more than patient but you have no more information about my step-daughter than you did six months ago. You're fired and the check's in the mail." She slammed the receiver down and turned her attention to the mobile.

"Sorry, Mr. Jaha, but my nerves are stretched thin. If hired, you'll be my fourth P.I."

"Call me Wells, please. I've looked over all the files you sent me and I'm going to be honest. I'm not sure she's still alive. I know that's hard to hear, but when she disappeared, you reported it as a kidnapping, but no ransom demand was ever made. And since there was no sign of forced entry or a struggle, the cops labeled her a runaway. Her being an adult pretty much tied their hands."

Diana clicked a perfectly manicured nail against the receiver. "I understand, but either way, I need closure. Even though she's not my child, I love her and need to know what happened. I owe that to her father, and I can't bear the thought of my sweet girl's remains abandoned somewhere, with no proper burial." Diana took a staggering breath. "If she is…gone, I want to lay her to rest beside her dad. Only that will give me peace. Do you grasp what I'm saying?"

"Yes, ma'am. I just want you to understand the results might not be what you expect."

"Mr. Jaha… Wells, I've lived with this for a long time, and not given up hope of finding her alive, but I do realize there is a chance she won't be. You'll see from the previous reports, she's not a stable girl. If she did run away, and I'm not convinced she did, it's because she suffered some type of psychological break. She worshiped her father and his death devastated her. Can you promise me you'll find her no matter what?"

"Like I told you earlier, in all my years with the FBI, I never failed to close a case, and I don't intend to start now."


	3. Chapter 3

When Clarke got home, Bellamy's motorcycle was nowhere to be seen. She didn't know if she should be happy or sad. Glad not to face him or depressed about postponing the inevitable. She knew his attitude concerning her living there, but she couldn't leave. Not yet.

Once inside, she released the cats and cleaned the laundry room. At least Bellamy had followed her instructions, right down to hanging the dish cloth over the faucet. She needed to make him understand how easy it would be for them to live together. If he followed her directions, she'd stay out of his way.

She removed his clothes from the dryer, placed his shirt and jeans on hangers, then neatly folded his underwear and socks. They didn't look new, so that made her think he'd been out of prison for a while. Probably on the run. No, that couldn't be right. Nobody had shown up looking for him, so maybe he'd finally admitted his crime and gotten paroled.

Taking the package of meat she'd placed in the fridge that morning to thaw, she laid it on the counter. Next, she washed two potatoes and got them ready to bake. She could use the microwave, but Charamel convinced her they were better slow cooked.

Fifteen minutes later, while the steak fried, Clarke made a fresh salad. She'd be happy to get the garden planted. She'd never appreciated homegrown vegetables until Miss Charamel taught her the art of gardening.

Her phone buzzed, and the screen read Raven. Clarke placed it to her ear. "Hello."

"Why didn't you call me about Bellamy?"

Clarke turned the meat and lowered the flame. "I'm sorry. Was his escape on the news?"

"No. He'd always claimed to be innocent, and the real criminal finally came forward. So his record has been cleared. He came into the store today."

Clarke smiled and removed the meat from the pan. Raven was her first real friend in years. Most of Clarke's life, girls made fun of her. Name calling. Eye rolling. She had experience with people not wanting her around, and as much as she hated the treatment she'd gotten in school, she'd learned from it.

"Thanks, but I'll be okay."

"If you say so, but if not, call me."

Clarke clicked off. Bellamy was right, he was twice her size, but just because a man was big, didn't make him mean. He reminded her of Dad. Tall and strong, but with a gentle soul. She had to believe that about her new landlord. He'd listen to reason. He had to. From what Charamel told her about how he basically raised Octavia, he had to have a gentle soul, somewhere.

She took plates from the cupboard, silverware from the drawer, and set the table. From the backyard, she clipped some small twigs from a redbud tree and stuck them in a vase Charamel kept on the hutch. On the bottom, carved into the pottery, _Bellamy, 1995_. A Bible school project when he was a kid. It was one of his grandmother's most treasured possessions.

Clarke brought the pitcher of tea and set it next to the glasses. Outside, the motorcycle's rumble died. Her heart accelerated. Showdown time.

* * *

By the time Bellamy finished his business at the building center, he'd arranged for delivery of supplies and gotten the names of a plumber, electrician, and concrete company. He contacted each of them and made appointments to go over his plans and get estimates.

He brought the Harley to a stop. The kid's car was in the drive, so now he had to decide either to confront her about the money or not. If she agreed to leave, he'd let it slide. With her gone, it was none of his concern, and he didn't want to borrow trouble. He took the carton of cigs and bottle of Jack from his saddlebag.

As he stepped onto the porch, a scent he'd not enjoyed for years floated to him. Damn. Could it be? Charamel's chicken fried steak? He salivated at the memory. He stepped inside, and the aroma enveloped him like a warm blanket on a cold night.

The kid stood at the stove, stirring what looked like gravy. She glanced over her shoulder. "Wash up. Dinner is almost done."

She spoke as if she belonged there, but she looked out of place. A girl playing grownup. It dawned on Bellamy how careful he needed to be. She could frame him just like Shumway. Come up with some abuse story or worse. Who'd believe an ex-con over a pretty girl with innocent eyes? His stomach churned.

"We need to talk."

"I know. We will. Over dinner. Wash your hands and take a seat."

He went to the bathroom and splashed water on his face. The stomach spasms eased. He reminded himself to stick to the plan. He had enough bad habits to drive her away. All he had to do was play those up a bit. Soon, she'd be so disgusted, she'd burn rubber getting out of there.

Seated at the dining table, he barely looked at her as she slid onto the seat across from him. He covered his steak with gravy then cut into it with a vengeance. The first bite sent his taste buds to Heaven. While he chewed, he loaded his potato with butter, cheese and sour cream. The only thing missing—fresh onions from the garden.

Even the food he'd gotten in cafés across the country couldn't compare to this. If she had Buko pie for dessert, he'd forget about running her off and marry her instead. He fought a smile. Wouldn't want her to know she'd done something he liked. It'd only encourage her.

Her voice brought him to the problem at hand.

"I can't leave. I have nowhere to go."

She picked at her food and his chest tightened with guilt. Damn it. He couldn't let her sob story affect him. He'd looked forward to having the whole place to himself, not share it with some runaway. "You can go back to where you came from."

"If that was possible, I wouldn't be here."

She looked at him with those big blue eyes and his breath strangled in his throat. According to Raven, it was the girl's birthday. So what? He'd had plenty of special occasions without anyone giving a damn. "Look, kid. You're in trouble, and I want no part of it. I don't know why Charamel took you in. I'm sure she had her reasons, but that was an arrangement between the two of you. It doesn't concern me."

"I'll cook. Do the laundry. Keep the house clean."

"I can do all that for myself." Yeah, he could, but after this meal, she had a good selling point. No, he had to scare her away. He swallowed, already feeling disgusted with himself, but. "I'm horny as hell. Guess you could help me with that."

She swallowed hard and for a minute he thought she might faint, but she pulled herself together. "I guess if that's my only option, I could try."

Holy hell. Not the response he expected. Then he looked at her. Really looked at her. This sly little fox was baiting him. She might be odd, but she wasn't dumb. "That's good news. I mean, I've already seen the merchandise and talk about convenient, doesn't get better than having an available girl living right in the house with me."

She drew a shallow breath.

He'd called her bet, raised the wager, and backed her into a corner. Put out or get out. His eyes wandered to her breasts, then her face, which had lost all color. He pushed away from the table. "So, you ready to go or do you want to clean up the kitchen first?"

She glared at him. "You're not serious."

He leaned forward and rested his arms on the table, and gave her his best evil grin. "I am."

She stood, reached for the hem of her shirt, and pulled it over her head. "If I have to screw you to stay, I will. But first, you need to take a bath and brush your teeth. You smell like an ashtray." She turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Bellamy froze in his chair. She'd called his bluff. Now what?

* * *

Clarke didn't know how she said those words and not fallen to pieces, or how she removed her shirt without passing out. But the important part was she'd agreed to and either had to follow through or run. The one thing she couldn't do.

She walked to the window and stared out at the shed. No water, heating or cooling, but the roof didn't leak, so she could make do. But even a counter offer to move into it probably wouldn't satisfy him. He wanted her off the property.

Most likely the sex would only be one time, because she wasn't any good at it. Her only experience was a single encounter, and even that was with a girl.

She moved to the edge of the bed and sat. Any minute, he'd come in headed to the bathroom, unless he decided not to shower first. Her heart kicked up a notch.

He wasn't ugly, not by a long shot. His eyes were big and when he widened them, he looked downright scary. His nose was okay, and she might like his mouth, if he ever smiled. She liked his freckles. It made him seem softer, somehow.

Who was she kidding? She couldn't do this. Rising from the bed, she rushed to the door and locked it, then pulled her suitcase from the closet. Once Charamel died, Clarke knew her luck might run out. She just never imagined it'd be over sleeping with a horny jailbird.

As she put the first pair of jeans in the bag, the motorcycle came to life. She zipped back to the window in time to see Bellamy speed down the road toward town.

She needed to work fast, so she dashed to the kitchen and cleaned the table, packaged the leftovers, put them in the fridge, then loaded the dishwasher and started it.

Returning to the bedroom, she grabbed her flashlight and ran out of the house and into the woods. Within a few minutes, she arrived at Raven's where she found her friend milking goats. Out of breath, Clarke bent over, gasping.

Raven jumped up and came to her. "Oh my gosh, is he after you?" She craned her neck toward the forest.

Clarke gulped for air. "No."

"Then what's wrong?"

"I agreed to sleep with him so he'd let me stay, but then he rode off. I don't know what to do."

Raven guided her toward a stool. "First, Happy Birthday." She pushed a gift basket of goat products toward her, and then her dad's watch. It was working now.

Clarke looked at it as if she'd just gotten an expensive piece of jewelry. She thought Raven had forgotten. Tears welled up behind Clarke's eyelids, and she hastily swiped at her eyes. "Thank you."

If Raven had seen her crying, she dared not to mention it. From the little she knew about Clarke's life, she knew her dad had died a few years ago, and that the watch was her most prized possession, even if it hadn't worked before Raven got her hands on it. "You're welcome. Now sit. Tell me what happened."

She told the story then finished with the last detail. "It's probably true. He's been locked up a long time."

"He's not going to do anything. He's an ass. Bellamy's just trying to scare you. Knowing him, I doubt he's lacking in the sex department."

Clarke stood and crossed her arms under her breasts. "He's a jerk."

"Yeah, well, maybe so, but he also owns the house. You have to decide if you're willing to put up with him or not. I haven't been around him in a lot of years, but I don't think he'd try anything. But after what you just told me, I'd say he plans to make you miserable."

"He's rude. I cooked for him and he inhaled it like it was his last meal and never even thanked me."

Raven laughed. "That may be the key. Do everything you offered—well, everything but the sex. Cleaning. Laundry. Cooking. And have as little interaction as possible. If you give him space, then maybe he won't force the issue. But don't take any shit from him either. Oh, and tomorrow, bake him a Buko pie. I remember it being his favorite."

* * *

Grounders sat directly across the street from Maya's gift shop where colored umbrellas filled the window displays. A sign advertised IT'S RAINING BARGAINS ALL WEEK.

 _If I have to screw you to stay, I will._ Bellamy sucked down his first beer and thought of Clarke. She had balls. He'd give her that. He should have pushed the limits just to see how far she'd go. But as much as he wanted her gone, he couldn't mistreat her. He had a feeling she'd had plenty of that. He felt sick to his stomach at the thought.

He glanced around the room. The aroma of beer and Buffalo wings hung in the air. Neon signs decorated the walls along with posters of past Arkadian festivals. Scarred wooden tables crowded close together with an open space at the rear for dancing.

The place was almost vacant, but it was barely six o'clock and most joints didn't come alive until the sun went down.

As it got later, Bellamy watched girls gather, all congregating in a group. All of them were eyeing him. He should join the group, but decided to let nature take its course. Eventually, one would leave the brood and head his way.

By ten o'clock, The Grounders was jumping and Bellamy had met Gina Martin. A curvy brunette with ample breasts and a pretty mouth.

As soon as she'd approached him, and leaned against his arm, he'd limited his alcohol consumption. He didn't want it to affect the performance he planned for later. Plus, he had to stay sober to drive.

As they danced, Gina stuck her hands in his back pockets and squeezed. A clear sign to take this party home. It was almost midnight when she parked her Chevy behind his bike. By the time they got to his bedroom, she'd stripped and started on him.

* * *

The screeching, high-pitched sound woke Clarke with a start. At first, she thought one of the cats might be having a seizure, so she jumped from the bed and looked beneath it. All four felines huddled together. Blanche growled as if warning a predator. Rose joined in. Sophia and Dorothy cowered.

Clarke rose, and the sound pierced the air again. She eased to the doorway. Maybe Bellamy was hurt or having a bad dream. Stepping into the hall, she tiptoed halfway and stopped to listen. A low moan followed by short shrill gasps, signaled a woman and advertised her activity.

"Yes, yes, yes!" the female screamed. "Oh, God. Oh, God, yes!"

Clarke's cheeks flamed. Her stomach spiraled. She wanted to run, but her feet rooted to the carpet. She pictured a blond sexpot tangled around Bellamy's muscular frame, long nails biting into his flesh, while he pounded into her. Moments later, he grunted, and the room went silent. Clarke's heart raced. Her body tingled. She'd never been this close to someone actually having sex. Well, except for the time she slept with Lexa. What she'd just heard didn't sound unpleasant. She wasn't sure how to describe it. Wild? Erotic? Pornographic? A former word of the day she'd not been able to use came to mind. Amatory. Yeah. That was it. Expressive of, or inciting sexual love or romance. At last, she could mark it off the list because there was definitely some amatory going on in there.

Lost in thought, Clarke didn't hear Bellamy, but suddenly he appeared wearing nothing but jeans zipped, not buttoned. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lips. Still unable to move, breath caught in her throat as she flattened against the wall. She closed her eyes and prayed he wouldn't look her way, but when she opened them, he glared at her with a menacing grin that would rival the Kathy Bates character in Misery. He didn't speak, but went into the kitchen.

His scowl uprooted her feet, and she ran to her bedroom and locked the door behind her. She pulled the covers up to her chin and tried to sleep, but couldn't. Three hours later, she socked the pillow over her head to drown out more amatory.

* * *

Raven stood in the doorway and stared at her son snuggled deep in the comforter, clutching his favorite stuffed animal, a horse with a missing ear. Most boys his age were into superheroes, but he was all about animals. The night-light's glow mixed with sunrays streaking through the window bathed his angelic face in amber. He was such a good boy, and she wanted to do so much for him. Get him a real pony. He'd asked for one last Christmas, and when Santa didn't deliver, Tommy didn't cry. Said he figured St. Nick thought he needed to be a year older.

Raven's lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears. She should accept Finn's proposal. He would buy a pony and anything else Raven asked. Why not say yes and make everyone's life easier? Move out of her parent's house and into his country club two-story. No more shopping at thrift stores for school clothes. Give up her part-time jobs. Open a garage. Get a pedicure. Damn, it'd been years since she'd had one.

Tommy shifted and made a little humming noise, then laughed. She couldn't help but laugh, too. He was dreaming and it must be a good one. His unruly hair poked in every direction. The child needed a haircut. Clarke would take care of that.

The thought of her friend brought Bellamy to mind. Seeing him yesterday unnerved Raven and caused feelings long buried to resurface.

"He's so precious." Mom slipped her arm around her daughter's shoulders.

"I'm going to marry Finn."

"Oh, mija. Don't. Dad and I know you don't love the man."

She followed as Raven went to the sofa and collapsed onto it. "I'm worn out, Momma. Tired of sponging off you and dad. And working two jobs. I'm sick of Tommy having to wear mostly hand-me-downs and me never being able to give him things. Finn can provide a good life for us. I care for him and that will have to be enough."

Mom lowered her head and rolled her eyes. "Maybe for you, but will it be enough for him? He's got to know how you feel and I can't believe he'll settle for a loveless marriage. And we've told you paying rent isn't necessary."

"Yeah, but you furnish our food, utilities, and free babysitting when I need it. With the measly amount I pay, I'd say you're losing money."

"No. No. I won't allow you to do this. In a few months, you'll have your degree and Sinclair's brother promised you a job in the shop. Once you're working, your income will double."

Raven shook her head so fast her vision blurred. "Only if they have an opening, which they don't. That means finding employment in a neighboring city. Driving that far means more gas, and I'll need a dependable vehicle. It'd be cheaper to buy a new car than trying to fix that clunker. Higher insurance, and I'll see less of Tommy. Marrying Finn will change all that. I won't even need to work because he wants a baby right away. After that, I can open up a garage..."

"Oh my God! Listen to yourself. You can't do this. Have you even slept with him?"

"Momma! That's none of your business."

"Maybe so, but I'm making a point. You haven't, have you? And that's because you're not sexually attracted to him." She released a long sigh. "Oh good Lord. You're willing to swear to love this man forever and you don't even love him now. The marriage will be doomed from the beginning." She clasped Raven's hands. "You can't do this. Just wait a little longer. I'm begging you."

Raven burst into tears and so did Mom.

"What the hell? Did somebody die?"

Raven turned to face her dad, but her mother spoke.

"Come talk some sense into your daughter. She's determined to marry Finn."

Dad folded his arms over his broad chest and glared at his only child. "Hell no, you're not. End of conversation." He turned and strolled to the kitchen.

Raven swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Once he ended a conversation, it stayed that way. She rose to her full height and left to milk the goats. Stomping into the barn, she led Atom, the oldest Nubian into the stall, then grabbed a chippy stool and stainless bucket from the sterile closet. Plopping down, she got busy, still shaking from her dad's commandment.

She knew in her heart that if her dad's single declaration was enough for her to full stop, then she herself knew her heart was never really in it.

Mom was right about the lack of attraction. Finn was kind and patient, but as hard as Raven tried, she just couldn't bring herself to sleep with him. It was wrong to take advantage of his affection, but to have sex would be even worse. It would give him hope for a future together, and the more she pondered the decision, the less she liked it. Finn did deserve someone who would make him happy, but so did she. She'd already overcame so much, being pregnant in a dead end town so young, trying her damnest to open up her own garage, something she'd been dreaming of since she asked her dad for soldering tools at eight years old, whereas all the other little girls wanted ballerina lessons and Barbie's.

Now she was right back to her financial woes and bleak horizons. With her meager salary, after bills, books and tuition, there was barely any left over. If it wasn't for the two hundred a month Clarke paid her to run errands, Raven wouldn't even have pocket change.

In Arkadia, other than the school and bank, there weren't many opportunities. Once a person landed one of those jobs, they kept it. She sniffed and stopped to wipe her nose, then returned to the sink to wash her hands again, but broke into tears. With a deep breath, she tried to shake the blues away. It was despicable to feel sorry for herself. The blame belonged on Bellamy and his family, not her. As bad as it was for him to be locked up for something he didn't do, it was worse for him to be at Charamel's.

"Mama, are you crying?"

Raven rubbed her cheeks and spun around. "No, baby. Just allergies. Come give me a kiss."

Rushing to her, he wrapped his arms around her thighs. She stooped to press him closer and kissed the top of his head. "Did you eat breakfast?"

He released his hold and stepped back "Yep, ma'am. It's Saturday. Abuela fixed me and abuelo pancakes. Can I go play in my treehouse?"

"May I go?"

He adjusted the wooden pistol stuck in jeans pocket. "May I go?"

He looked so cute with the kerchief tied around his neck Raven wanted to squeeze him. "Sure. When I'm done milking, I'll come join you."

She watched him disappear and shamed herself. No amount of money could buy a healthy, happy, loving child.

* * *

Clarke heard him coming before he galloped into view.

"Whoa, boy." Tommy untied his bandanna and wiped his brow like he'd been on the trail for days, then dismounted his imaginary steed. "You just graze right here, Gus. I'm gonna climb up that tree and take a look around."

As Tommy's boot hit the top rung, Clarke folded her legs Indian style and sat up straight.

He pulled himself to the opening and leveled his gaze on her. "Whatchoo doing here?"

"The new owner of Charamel's house moved in yesterday and had a sleepover. I didn't want to be there when they got up." Last night, Clarke suffered through the noisy sex twice, but that third time, she couldn't take it anymore. So at four this morning, she'd gotten dressed, grabbed her flashlight and pillow, and headed to the treehouse.

"Oh. Do they have kids?"

"No. It's just a man."

The young cowpoke crawled in and sat. "Do you gotta move? Cause if you do, you can live here."

"I don't have to move." She hesitated, then smiled. "Thank you for offering. I better go." Rolling onto her knees, she crawled to the door. "See you later."

Clarke took her time getting back to the house and before stepping into the clearing, she stopped to check the drive. The girl's car was gone, but now there was a pickup truck in its place. Surely he didn't have another woman in there. Her stomach lurched.

Just as she decided to return to the woods, Bellamy came around the house with a stranger holding a clipboard. He made notes as her new landlord gestured as if telling a story. She waited until they walked to the backyard, then rushed inside.

The laundry room door stood open, and no cats were in sight. Didn't he remember the note? Her instructions? Zipping down the hallway, she located Blanche and Sophia on her bed. After securing them, she returned with the flashlight to look under the chair, where the remaining two huddled together.

She scanned the area for damage or accidents, saw none, and relaxed. After a thorough hand washing, she removed ingredients from the pantry, pulled Charamel's favorite rolling pin from the drawer and her special pie plate from the hutch. By the time she rolled dough, Bellamy came in the back door in a huff and spoke without looking at her.

"You and the fur balls have to go."

Clarke glared at him. "Why are you an enemy of cats?"

"I'm not. But you have a whole damn herd."

"They're not mine. They belonged to your grandmother."

"I don't care. I want all of you out of here. You're cramping my style."

Clarke's chest tightened. Even the mention of Charamel didn't affect him. Hopefully, Raven was right, and the dessert would.

"No I'm not. I haven't said anything about that woman you brought here and I left so she wouldn't see me and interfere with your style, if that's what you want to call it."

Now he looked at her, his eyes narrowed into slits. "Then why were you trying to spy on me? If you want to watch, just say so. That can be arranged. Might even let you join in."

"I wasn't spying. I don't want to watch or join in."

"Yeah, well, then this arrangement isn't going to work for either of us. Best you hit the road."

"You don't even want me to finish the pie?" Now she had his full attention.

He zeroed in on the perfect circle in front of her, and his angry expression evaporated. "You're making a pie?"

"Buko. Your grandmother taught me."

He froze. Stared. A vein below his ear jumped. Her heart picked up more speed. If this didn't work, she'd be out the door right along with the Golden Girls. Then he stepped closer.

"What else you got?"

"Fried chicken. Mashed potatoes. Cream gravy. Green beans from the freezer."

"Dammit to hell." He turned on his heel and headed back outside.


	4. Chapter 4

Bellamy wanted to kick himself. He kept letting this intruder get the best of him. But it'd been almost a decade since he'd had Charamel's fried chicken and Buko pie, and if yesterday's meal indicated his grandmother's training, his expectations were high.

Almost every dream he'd had in prison was of this place. Helping in the garden. Picking blackberries off the fence row. Swimming in the pond. Sleeping outside. As soon as the weather warmed, he'd do that again. Another thing he'd missed about freedom. A star-filled sky.

For now, he'd let the girl stay, but the cats were going first thing Monday morning. She claimed no attachment, but he'd bet otherwise. Getting rid of them might convince her to move on. That combined with last night's activities. He didn't understand why he couldn't just throw her stuff on the lawn and make her leave, but he couldn't. Something about the way she'd said she had nowhere to go stabbed his heart. He believed her. But she had all that money, so she could book a five-star hotel if she wanted. Wasn't like she'd be camped in alleys and dumpster diving for food.

Maybe the soft spot came from having every second of his own life dictated for so many years, or the threat of constant danger. He'd dealt with plenty of that. Prisoners who were bigger. Stronger. Older. No conscience. No regard for anything. That's what prison did. It took a person's humanity. It'd taken his for a while. His stomach clenched. If it hadn't been for Murphy, Bellamy would be a lifer for a crime he _did_ commit. A chill ran up his spine.

There was so much that could hurt this girl, he just couldn't bring himself to force her out. That's why it had to be her decision. And from her expression when he'd seen her in the hallway, his lifestyle would make short work of her wanting to stay. He'd come from the room to keep from cuddling with Gina. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. Needing a smoke always provided a good exit excuse.

He lit a cigarette, took a deep, uneven drag, and stared at the oak tree near the end of the porch. Once the lumber arrived, he'd construct a makeshift shower. All he had to do was build a frame, enclose it with tarps, and mount a water hose to the top. That would solve the problem of folding his body into the old tub and bathing around her schedule.

He finished his smoke, then went back inside to call and add to the supplies coming from Breaux Bridge. The pie was in the oven, but the kid wasn't in the kitchen. Just as he rounded the corner to his bedroom, she came out, and he gasped. She looked like a Hazmat investigator gone crazy. Covered from top to bottom, she wore one of Charamel's old housecoats, the pink gingham with bright blue flowers, along with yellow rubber gloves, a dust mask, protective goggles, orange and green striped knee-high socks pulled over her shoes, and a Christmas scarf printed with reindeer, tied around her head. Extended away from her body as if carrying a bomb was a clothes basket holding his crumpled bed sheets.

"What the hell?"

Her voice muffled through the germ barrier and fogged her eyewear. "I've got to wash these. You need to empty your trash can."

He wished for a camera. He'd never seen such a sight and couldn't help but laugh, and once he got started, couldn't stop.

She pushed past him. "I should burn them."

He wanted to say something, but lost his breath. Staggering back outside, he leaned against the railing, and gasped, finally getting control. He'd not laughed this hard in years.

"Trash. Emptied. Now."

He turned to face her. The instructions weren't delivered as a demand. He'd noticed that about her. Everything she said was in the same calm monotone. Her expression was a different story. Last night outside his room, she'd looked like a kid who'd experienced their first roller coaster ride. He'd kind of had the same sensation inside the room. He chuckled.

He should come back with a smartass retort about not dumping the can until it was full of used condoms, but thought better of it. No sarcastic remark could top her getup.

"Do you have any idea how ridiculous you look?"

"Yes." She spun around and disappeared down the hall.

Damn. She was the strangest person he'd ever met. Just as he finished with the trash, the plumber arrived. As Bellamy let him in, he saw the kid down the road cleaning bird houses. At least she was back in her regular attire.

After the plumber left, Bellamy made the phone call to Breaux Bridge and added the additional supplies to his order. The dessert sat on the counter, so he helped himself to a slice. He strolled back to the porch again, sat, and listened to the sounds of nature. Closing his lips around the first bite, memories of summers, holidays, and playing dominoes with Charamel while she taught him math without him knowing it swam in his brain.

He finished the slice and returned for one more. He'd skipped breakfast, and it was still hours before dinner so the pie would be lunch. He looked out the kitchen window to see the delivery he'd been expecting. The young car salesman, dangling keys from his finger, met Bellamy half-way.

"Not sure the wash job did much good after coming down the dirt road, but the interior is still clean."

Bellamy took the keys. "That's okay. I appreciate you bringing it."

"All the paperwork and manuals are in the glove box. You have my number if you need anything."

The guy got in the car with the co-worker who'd followed, and drove away. Bellamy walked around the F-150 pickup truck, then climbed inside. He loved the smell of a new vehicle. He fired it up and headed to Grounders. It was the middle of the day, but girls waited. As he passed Clarke, she didn't even look up.

* * *

Wells Jaha finished reading over the papers concerning the teenager's disappearance and shoved them into his briefcase. He'd hit a stroke of luck with the original officer handling the case. He and Charles Pike had known each other for years.

After fighting traffic, it was almost two when Wells arrived at the police department. He'd called ahead to make sure Pike was still working. Although his friend was old enough to retire, he'd not opted out yet.

The elevator doors opened and Wells got on and rode up to the third floor. He should use the stairs. God knew he needed the exercise, but he was already on his fifth coffee, and walking was enough to deal with.

The place hadn't changed much. Same standard issue metal desks and cubicles, it reeked of fresh coffee and stale donuts. He stopped for a moment and considered when he'd last visited. At least three years ago about the time he left the FBI and opened his PI business. He'd made sure local guys knew he'd not step on any toes when he got an open case. Law enforcement was a country club of sorts. You didn't get to play on their turf without a membership.

Pike glanced up from his desk, then pulled his massive frame from the chair and embraced Wells. "Damn, Jaha, how you been?"

"Okay. You?"

"Just counting the days."

"When?"

"One-one-seventeen, I'm out of here. Plan to head for Florida. Ella's mom and dad left her a condo there. We're gonna move in, prop our feet up, and grow old."

Wells laughed. "Don't you mean _older_? You're already old."

He gestured toward a chair. "You got that right, and I'm feeling it."

Wells plopped into the seat, the leather squeaking with his weight. "Me, too."

Pike sat again. "So, after you called, I pulled up the file. I'm surprised the step-mother is still pursuing this."

"Says she needs closure. Most people do."

"I guess. So, what do you want to know?"

"You didn't keep the case open long. I'm wondering why. No judgment. Just curious."

The cop shouldered back in his chair. "The step-mom insisted it was kidnapping, but there was no proof. I thought she left of her own accord but still worked the case hard for two months with no luck."

He shifted in his seat again, opened a file folder, and put his glasses on. "I based my decision on two separate conversations I had with former household employees." He scanned the page. "The housekeeper they'd had for years, one Keenan Mykulak, and the home school teacher, Indra West."

Wells made notes, then looked at his friend. "What'd they have to say?"

Pike removed his glasses and pitched them down on the desktop. "The step mom made this kid out to be disturbed, but that's not the same description I got from others. Odd. Strange. Obsessive. Lacking social skills, yeah, but not crazy. Tutor claimed she had an IQ of 125. When I arrived at the house, I photographed every inch of the girl's room. The Mykulak woman said all of the concert tee-shirts the kid cherished were missing. Now, what kind of kidnapper allows his prey to pack their favorite things?"

"I see your point. But those traits sound like autism."

"No way to tell. Her father, Jake, never allowed her to be tested. That's not all. Her computer and cellphone—gone. Debit and credit cards—never got a hit. She had a college fund she'd cleaned out two weeks before she disappeared, and here's the kicker, Dad had to sign for the withdrawal. Now, you tell me what conclusion you'd get from that."

Wells rubbed his hand over his jaw. "Sounds like the father helped the kid leave."

Pike flicked his finger. "Bingo."

* * *

When Clarke finished with the Ark boxes and returned to the house, she had a message waiting from Byrne. They'd picked up a body and the family wanted a quick burial, so she'd need to work on Sunday. At least it'd get her away from Bellamy. She'd avoided the subject, and he'd not mentioned kicking her out again, which she attributed to the cooking. He'd already eaten half the pie. Even without Raven's help, or having lived with Charamel, Clarke could tell just from the soiled pages of the recipe book, which selections were favorites.

She'd watched him drive away in the new truck and assumed he'd return before dinner.

The men who came to the house today and construction plans she'd seen on the bedside table, told her there was about to be more activity than she wanted. But if she complained, he might kick her out, meals or no meals. Dealing with the mess and strangers would be a challenge, but she had no choice.

After locking her bedroom door, she pulled the paint can from behind the chair. More cooking meant more groceries. She'd done a meal-plan and market list for the next two weeks. She removed the lid and peered inside. Her family picture had always been on top, but now dad was first. An odd feeling crawled up her spine. Had Bellamy been in her room and found her hiding place? He had no right. This was _her_ stuff. She counted the bundles. All there. She was just being paranoid.

But a new location might be in order in case he did search. Under the mattress? No. He'd look there for sure. She stepped to the bathroom. _Polis_ had an episode where drug dealers hid their goods in a plastic bag immersed in the toilet tank. The thought made her queasy. She opened the cabinet below the sink and spied a box of tampons. He'd never check there. She made the transfer, and placed the remaining tampons on top, and slid the box back in its spot.

If he had snooped, then why hadn't he said something? Her heart hammered. What if he thought the money was stolen and had gone to the police? No. If so, they would have already been here. Maybe he was waiting. But for what? Her mind raced.

The sound of a car door got her attention. She peeked out the window. He was back earlier than expected. Before he came in, she was in the kitchen. "Nice truck."

"Thanks."

She shoved a paper toward him. "Here's a list of meals. If there's anything special you want me to add, tell me so I can get the ingredients."

He barely looked at the sheet. "I need a drink."

From the cabinet he took whiskey and poured into a glass she already had sitting out. Drink in one hand and bottle in the other, he walked to the back porch, sat, and propped his feet onto the railing. He stayed that way until she called him for dinner.

Something was going on with him, but she didn't know what. He didn't speak during the meal and she wanted to tell him she knew he'd been poking around in her room, but his mood warned it wasn't a good idea.

An hour later, he left again, and after cleaning the kitchen, securing the cats, she walked through the woods to Raven's house. Twilight winked through the trees, and as she drew closer to the workshop, a pleasant odor drifted to her.

Soap molds covered the table where Raven and Harper were busy at work, removing and stacking the bars. When the door opened, Raven looked up.

"How do you like this scent?"

Clarke inhaled and smiled. "I like it. It's new isn't it?"

"Yeah. The idea came in the middle of the night. I'm adding a men's line with aphrodisiac fragrances. Sandalwood and vanilla. Cedar and honey. And here's the biggie…cinnamon. Turns out, it's said to have been used by the Queen of Sheba in her seduction of King Solomon. I'm calling the selection, Stud Suds. What do you think?"

Before she could answer, Harper chimed in. "I love it! The name conjures all sorts of results without any advertising. I mean, if a guy's already a stud, will it make him more of one? If he's a nerd, will the soap turn him into a stud hammer?" She flapped her hands in the air as if directing the scent to her nose. "Holy hell. Even if it doesn't, he'll smell good enough to eat, or at least, lick."

Raven rolled her eyes, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, and picked up a sheet of paper. "I'm thinking it might be good to categorize the soaps instead of just individual selections. I'll still have those but I'll also do Baby Bubbles, with light, airy fragrances and maybe Sexy Scents for females."

Harper stacked empty molds and carried them to a nearby rack. "If you come up with a bar that smells like cash and a Corvette, you'll have women going wild!"

"Bellamy got a new truck," Clarke said.

Harper blinked. "That makes me think since this is Louisiana, I may need to change my suggestion to cash and truck. And don't leave the younger kids out. You can do a line called Teenage Temptations. I bet that'd be a big seller."

"That or Raging Cravings."

Raven and Harper stared at Clarke, then laughed.

"Holy hell! Did you make a joke?"

Clarke shrugged. "I don't know. Did I?"

Raven grinned. "I think you did, and it was a good one. Speaking of Bellamy, how's it going with him?"

"He brought a girl home."

"Really? I didn't think he'd been in town long enough to meet anybody, but after what you told me, I guess he found one."

Harper cocked her head. "Told you what?"

"Bellamy tried to scare Clarke into leaving by telling her he was horny." Raven giggled. "I told her to bake him a pie."

"And I did. He ate almost all of it. He's been looking around in my room. Should I say something?"

"Is anything missing?"

"No."

"Then maybe you shouldn't bring it up. You're hanging by a thread getting to stay there. He may have done it to start an argument. Then it'd be easier for him to kick you out." Raven wiped the countertop, raking soap shavings into the trashcan. "Remember he just got out of prison and probably doesn't trust anyone, and since you were a big surprise, you're at the top of that list. He's not.." Raven turned around to look her in the eye. "He's not a bad guy. I was friends with his sister. He basically raised her, would do anything for her. He's always taken care of people he cared about. He's been burned, and he's putting up this asshole front of his, and he does it well."

"I saw construction plans in his room. He's building onto the house. Yesterday, a plumber and electrician came. I don't want all those strange people coming and going, and I hope he doesn't keep finding women."

Harper laughed. "You make it sound like he's hunting Easter eggs."

"Again, he may be doing this to make you want to leave." Raven removed her apron, folded it and put it under the counter. "Y'all stay as long as you like but Finn is picking me up in an hour, so I've got to get ready."

"I've got to go, too." Harper pulled photos from her purse and handed them to Clarke. "I took some shots of my latest creations. Thought they might help you get an idea of the products I have planned. No hurry. I'm just in the beginning stages. See you later."

After Harper left, Clarke gave Raven the grocery list and money. "I hate to ask you to shop again this soon, but if I cook every day, I'll need more things."

"I don't mind a bit. I'll get them for you tomorrow."

"Thank you."

"You're more than welcome."

Once Clarke was alone, she worked on new drawings for her friend's latest brainstorm. Baby Bubbles came easily. She drew fledglings sitting in ark shaped bubble bath. Raven wanted to play up the Arkadia aspect of the business. The original design of the goat in the tub would be the logo shown on the back of each wrapper.

She spread Harper's pictures on the table. Besides the beer cap jewelry, she'd added the same selections using shell casings, with colored crystals in the center of each one. Bracelets, necklaces, rings made from different calibers. Clarke couldn't believe it. They were pretty.

It was ten o'clock by the time she headed back home, and when the old house came into view, Bellamy's truck sat in the drive with the same car from the night before parked behind it. Clarke's stomach somersaulted. Why couldn't she take him to her house instead of coming here?

Clarke spun around and went back to Raven's to sleep in the barn. She raked fresh hay into a pile, then curled into it. Good thing she wasn't allergic. Getting settled, she thought about Bellamy and what she should do. As much as she hated her situation, she didn't see an alternative—unless…they traded bedrooms. That way, he and his guests would have access to the bathroom. With that final thought, she drifted to sleep.

The next morning, she woke early and hoped the visitor had left. If not, Clarke would come back here, shower, and borrow something to wear.

She took her time walking through the woods and wished the treehouse had a view of the place, that way she wouldn't have to go all the way home before she knew if the coast was clear. Just as she feared, the woman's car was still in the drive. Clarke took a deep breath and as she started to leave, the stranger came out.

She drove away and Clarke thanked her stars she'd not had to listen to the wails and moans of the couple. She eased the door open and tiptoed inside. No need to wake the sleeping giant.

After a quick bath, she dressed for the day, took care of the cats, and wrote a note. She got the peanut butter from the pantry and the jelly from the fridge. Lost in thought, she didn't hear her roommate until he spoke.

"What the hell are you doing?"

She jerked upright. "Making a sandwich."

"Are you sure, because I've been standing here five minutes and with you bobbing up and down, you look like you're dancing."

"I'm checking to make sure the layers are even and all the way to the edge of the bread." This was her opportunity to use her word of the day. "Peanut butter is so unctuous. That means smooth and greasy."

He walked to stand next to her. "No shit. Well, it looks okay to me."

She slid the knife along the crust. "No, see that white strip." Gliding the blade across the filling, she pushed it to the outer border. "Now, I'm ready for the jelly." She spooned out a glob and swirled it. After a full minute of smearing grape from one side to the other, she backed away, leaned forward until she had it at eye level, and focused like surveying a piece of land. Satisfied with the results, she pressed the two pieces together, cut them in half, and put them in a sandwich bag.

He stepped away. "Where were you last night?"

"Raven's. Is that woman your girlfriend?"

He chuckled. "Not hardly."

"Well, if you're going to keep bringing women here, I think we should trade rooms."

"An even better idea is you getting your own place."

"Not just rooms. Furniture, too. Maybe some of those men you have coming will help."

"I'm sure I can get them to help load your stuff."

"Why would they do that? I live here."

"Yeah, about that. Went to the bank yesterday and see you've continued to pay rent each month, but you know what happens when you get a new landlord."

She turned to face him. "What?"

"Rent goes up. Starting next month, it doubles."

She swallowed hard. Not paranoia. He knew about the money.


	5. Chapter 5

After work on Sunday, Clarke parked in the drive but didn't go inside. Bellamy's truck wasn't there, so he'd probably gone into town to find another fuck buddy. Instead, she took a sketch pad and hurried to the treehouse. Still fuming about the invasion of privacy, for dinner, she'd let him fend for himself.

Multiplying her monthly payment was his way of telling her he knew she had money. Or, it might be the other way. He didn't know about the stash and by increasing her expense, hoped she'd look for something cheaper. Her brain hurt from thinking about it. Paranoia either way. Even though she'd never gotten the photos in the can mixed up, it was a possibility. If Dad were here, he'd say not to read so much into things. He'd flash the smile he reserved just for her and use all those clichés he loved to spout. It is what it is. Don't make a mountain out of molehill. She'd always hated when he did that, but now longed to hear the comfort of those corny platitudes. A tear trickled down her cheek, she wiped it away and inhaled deeply, then released a slow, steady breath. Crying won't change anything.

The sun began to set and a veil of deep purple draped the top of the forest like a new bride. Clarke loved this time of day when everything hushed and settled. Trees whispered their secrets, and the wind gathered the world's wishes and carried them to Heaven.

She'd stalled long enough. Closing her tablet, she stuck the pencil behind her ear, and climbed down the ladder. Even from this distance the fragrant aroma of essential oils permeated the air. Just like every night, Raven was making soap. Clarke wished there was something she could do to help her friend get her products into the right hands. She'd convinced her to get a website, and that was a start. Once she got the packaging designs finished and Raven got them photographed, she'd be able to establish an online presence, and one step closer to her dream of having her own garage.

As she emerged from the woods, Clarke didn't expect to see Bellamy's truck, but it was there. So was his Harley. Sunday nights must not be prime time for picking up women—unless he attended prayer meeting, and he didn't seem the type.

No sound came from inside the house, so she entered quietly. It was only eight o'clock, but perhaps the previous two nights of wild sex had caught up with him and he'd turned in early. She went to tend the cats, then to the kitchen. A box of crackers sat on the counter while a dirty bowl and spoon cluttered the sink. On the stove, a pan and empty can. He'd made his own meal but left the cleanup.

On the back porch, a shadow got her attention. Bellamy. Her breath caught. Even with his back to her, his action was clear. He stood at the railing, peeing. Ugh.

He finished, zipped, and started toward his chair, but caught her staring. Her face burned. She twirled, grabbed the cracker box, and rushed to the pantry as he came inside. She looked at the pantry in disarray. It shouldn't be like this, so out of order. Her cheeks flamed hotter. She grasped a can in each hand and spun on him. "This is not right! This is not right!" She moved things around, clanking containers as she rearranged them.

He came to stand behind her. "What the hell?"

"Chili goes after chicken noodle!" She shoved her shoulder into his chest as she put it in place. What was wrong with him? She gritted her teeth. Any idiot could see the order. Fruit. Soup. Vegetable. "You're messing up everything!"

"Well, fuck me. Didn't know I had to alphabetize. You've got too many goddamn rules. Don't feed the cats. Don't get fucking crumbs on the floor. Dry the dishrag." He moved away and set the whiskey bottle he'd been holding down with a thud. "There were nothing but rules in prison. I'm done following rules. Live with it or leave."

She wanted to say more, but he'd been drinking. Not a good time to argue. For all she knew, he could be a mean drunk. She'd heard that term on Polis. Alcohol sometimes brought out the worst, and she didn't want to risk it. She stormed past him to her room. It reminded her of her dad toward the end. Diana would drink and drink, and even raised a hand to hit Clarke once. She could still feel the burning slap across her cheek sometimes.

For the next two hours, Clarke put the final touches on the mural, then stepped back and admired the results. Clouds as fluffy as cotton candy floated across an aqua sky while a pair of birds circled overhead. Twisting vines climbed the wall of the weathered shed where stalks of pink hollyhocks rose above a mass of zinnias. Miss Charamel stood in the garden, hands on hips, cats at her feet. Everything the old lady loved. Clarke suspected that was the reason she and Charamel got along so well. Simple things made her happy.

By the time she cleaned her brushes and got ready for bed, it was almost midnight. She'd heard Bellamy go into his room an hour ago. She slid the laptop onto her thighs, brought up the Breaux Bridge Daily classifieds, and scrolled to the rental property. If she found a place as secluded as this, she'd leave. Only seven house listings. One by one she ruled them out. Too big. Bad location. Too expensive.

She snapped the lid closed and flopped back onto the bed. No. She had to stay here. This was where Dad wanted her to live. He and Charamel had an agreement. No matter what, Clarke wasn't leaving.

* * *

The next morning Bellamy waited until he heard his unwelcome houseguest drive away before coming from his bedroom. The kid was nuts. He'd never seen anyone get so bent outta shape about chili in the wrong place. The fact she had the damn pantry alphabetized was crazy enough, but to go ballistic was another matter.

Later today, the construction men would arrive and if a can being out of order drove her into a fit, having strangers in the house should make her run away screaming. He turned on the coffeemaker. Next to it sat a saucer with two biscuits covered with plastic wrap, and a note.

Sorry I yelled at you.

Damn kid. If the pantry incident riled her, his next action was liable to give her a stroke. He felt a little bad about yelling at her. As fucked up as it was, and it probably was, part of him liked riling her up. She was feisty when provoked. After he finished breakfast, he retrieved the animal carriers he'd bought in Breaux Bridge. Once he had the felines in the boxes, he loaded them along with the remaining food and litter, then headed to the shelter.

An hour later, back at home, the first delivery truck arrived followed by carpenters and the plumber. As soon as Bellamy alerted the concrete company the frame was ready, they'd come.

By noon, evidence of the renovation was everywhere. Pipes protruded from framework and while he waited for the concrete company, Bellamy constructed the outdoor shower he'd planned. In March, early morning and evening temperatures were still chilly but not so much he couldn't tolerate it. This way, he wouldn't have to swap rooms with the girl. One worker had commented about the mural and how real it looked. A little too real for Bellamy. He wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep in a room with Charamel staring at him all night.

At five o'clock, the crew called it a day and so did Bellamy. His back ached like a son of a bitch, but he didn't care. It felt good to have his mind focused on the future instead of the past. He pulled out the Jack Daniel's along with a glass from the cupboard and headed outside. He held the whiskey up to the light, then filled the tumbler. The bottle was almost empty, so he'd need to make another trip to town.

Since the slab needed to cure for a week before construction resumed, he'd use that time to select the interior furnishings. He'd noticed a sign at the building supply store offering decorating services. Tomorrow, he'd go back and talk to someone about that.

* * *

Clarke blew out a breath of relief. Lumber piled at the end of the house, but no men were in sight. She got out, walked to the stack and surveyed the changes. According to the new foundation, square footage would double in size. Protruding pipes located the bathroom and it was a big one with what looked to be a place for a tub and separate shower. Surely they'd finish the project in a month. After that, Bellamy would have his space and she'd have hers so maybe he wouldn't be so adamant about her leaving.

Inside, she saw him sitting out back, drinking and wondered what he thought about when he was out there. Whatever it was, caused him to drink too much. She went to release The Golden Girls, but when she opened the door, they were gone. Had he already let them out? She searched under her bed. With the construction ruckus the pets would have hidden or if a door had been left open, ran away. Then she remembered what Bellamy had said about getting rid of them.

She flew to the back porch. "Where are the cats?"

He didn't look at her, just spoke over his shoulder. "Gone."

"What do you mean…gone?"

"They're not coming back."

"Did you kill them?" She crossed her arms over her chest, defensive.

That got his attention. He turned to face her. "Are you serious? I took them to the shelter. They'll go to good homes."

"Okay. Dinner will be ready in about an hour."

* * *

Okay? That was it? She had nothing more to say? Damn girl confused him. Went crazy over a can out of place, but no emotion about the cats. Weird.

He turned his chair to watch her as she moved around the kitchen. She didn't look out of place like he'd thought before. She knew where to find everything. Frying pan from the oven drawer. Dishes from the right-hand cupboard. Glasses on the second shelf. She fit seamlessly within his house, like she belonged there - as if she was always there. It was pretty easy for him to imagine her there. He shook his head. Where the hell did that come from? He wanted her gone.

A knot formed in his throat as her words rang in his ears. Did you kill them? What kind of monster did she think he was? Well, he was a monster. At least he had been, but he'd left all that behind him. Still the words bit deep like a metal trap. He shook the notion away and drained his glass, then the bottle. Not near enough to numb him, but it would have to do.

After dinner, he gave the new shower a try. Not bad. The water was like ice, but the pressure was good. A few cold showers might do him some good. Help keep his libido in check. He could always call Gina again, but he'd already tired of her. Plus, she was nice and he didn't want to give her the wrong impression. Like he wanted a steady relationship, and he didn't. And with his aching back, better to have the whole bed to himself tonight.

He threw the covers back, fluffed his pillow, then sank into the down mattress. Within a few minutes, he'd gone to sleep.

* * *

An odd sound echoed down the hallway. Clarke sat up straight. Bellamy didn't have a woman tonight, so the noise had to come from him. She listened. Nothing. She drew a deep breath and pushed the laptop aside, switched off the lamp, then slid down into the bed. Just as she drifted off, another screech. This time louder.

She sprang and rushed into the hall. Hearing nothing, she tiptoed farther down, and pressed her ear to his door. Muffled sounds came from inside, then three snorts as if he was fighting with someone.

"Murphy! Murphy!"

Her heart hammered. She burst through the door as Bellamy sat up, covered his face with his hands, and sobbed. She froze. She should back away, he'd not seen her, but he was crying so hard there had to be something wrong. The only man she'd seen weep like this was her dad at Mom's funeral.

Maybe Bellamy was grieving. Clarke knew sometimes people didn't mourn until much later. Dad died years ago and she still experienced sorrow every time she thought of him. She wondered if that sadness would ever go away.

She moved to the bed and knelt. "Bellamy? Are you okay?"

He jerked his hands away and glared at her. Even in the dim light, she saw the fire in his eyes and it frightened her. She fell sideways and caught herself on one arm, then kicked her legs out straight.

"Get out! Get the fuck out!"

Her legs had gone numb. She couldn't stand, so she pushed with her feet, propelled with her hands, scooting on her rear to the doorway. Once in the hall, she rolled to all fours, crawled to her bedroom, slammed the door, and locked it. Hugging knees to her chest, she struggled for breath. Finally coming to her feet, she scurried to the side table, and grabbed her flashlight. She jerked the blanket off the bed, crawled out the window, then ran down the path that led to the treehouse.

* * *

It took Bellamy a few minutes to fully wake and clear his head. Had he hit her? She'd fallen backwards, but he didn't think he'd caused it. At least not by touching her. But what if he had? She'd never believe it was an accident.

All he'd wanted was to come to Arkadia and be left alone. That way when the dreams came there'd be no one to witness the tough ex-con scream like a frightened child and cry like a baby. With plenty of whiskey or sex, he avoided the nightmares, and sometimes he got by without either of those things.

He rubbed his hand across the scar on his belly. He didn't know which dream was worse, the one where he'd been shanked and almost died, or later when he'd killed his attacker. Bellamy sat on the edge of the bed, shoulders hunched, head buried in his hands, and tried to erase the vision of blood swirling down the shower drain, as his victim bled out. Self-defense, but in prison, that didn't matter.

Murphy's voice screamed inside Bellamy's head. Give me the shiv and get the hell out of here! He hadn't remember following the instructions, but must have because Murphy took the fall. Doing life without parole, his cellmate explained that gave him a free pass. One more conviction wouldn't matter.

Bellamy drew a deep breath. He had to make this right with the kid. She had to understand he meant her no harm, but from her expression, he wasn't sure he could convince her. He rose and walked down the hall to her door. She was probably terrified, and it left his stomach in knots. He hadn't meant to frighten her, but he did. He didn't want her to think the worst of him – like the monster he knew he was. He didn't think he could stomach her being truly afraid of him.

"Listen, kid… Clarke… I'm sorry if I scared you. I'd never hurt you—intentionally."

He waited, but no response. Okay, she was pissed. He got that, but he couldn't take a chance on her going to the cops. "Open the door and let's talk about it. I promise to make it up to you. I'll even quit harping about you leaving. Whattaya say?"

Still no answer, he turned the knob, but the door was locked. Shit. She probably just needed time to get over the shock of his actions. "We'll talk in the morning."

He returned to his room, but couldn't sleep, so he dressed and grabbed his truck keys. No need to wait, he'd go into town and get more whiskey.

* * *

Keeping the beam aimed at the ground, Clarke followed the worn trail that curled into the woods. An owl hooted from a nearby tree. Frogs croaked in rhythm. Crickets chirped. She loved the sounds of the night. She'd never known how alive the forest was until moving to Arkadia. Even after the world went to sleep, Mother Nature stayed awake.

When she reached her destination, she collapsed onto a rock and rested a minute before she attempted her ascent. Strange how a house in a tree with no doors or locks felt safer than the farm.

It took longer than usual to climb the ladder because her legs were like rubber. Once she reached the floor, she wrapped herself in the blanket and sat cross-legged, clutching her stomach, rocking back and forth. She'd never had a man scream at her like that, or look at her that way. She wasn't sure he was seeing her, but rather some demon from his past. The pain in his eyes made her think of the most heartbreaking episode of Polis she'd seen where after years of suffering, parents found out their child was dead.

She took a deep breath dragging clean, cool night air into her lungs. Bellamy hated her for no reason other than she existed. That wasn't anything new. She'd lived in a house where she'd experienced the same thing. As hard as she tried to be invisible, it was never enough. Sometimes she wondered if some higher power hated her too. He must, or why take away the few people in the world who had loved her? Mom, Dad, Charamel.

Despite Dad's wishes, Clarke didn't belong here anymore. Bellamy had never been a consideration. If he had, Dad would have chosen somewhere else for her to live. She dreaded having to face Bellamy again, but she'd have to return to the house. Everything she owned was there. She should go back now. Get the things she needed before he got up for the day. That way, she wouldn't have to see him. It wouldn't take long to pack. Crawl back in the window, grab her clothes, money, computer, and phone and be gone within the hour. It was irresponsible to not give the funeral home two weeks' notice, but she couldn't help that, unless she stayed at the local motel or Raven's.

She'd decide tomorrow. Right now she'd get her things, spend the night in her car, and in the morning, with a clear head, she'd address her job situation. Decision made, she climbed down and headed back to Charamel's.

When she arrived at the house, Bellamy's truck was gone. She released a sigh and her chest relaxed. Things were finally going her way. She'd be in and out in thirty minutes. As she hoisted a leg up and straddled the windowsill, headlights beamed down the road. She scurried to get inside, but her pants caught on a loose nail. Before she could free it, the truck came to a halt, and he jumped out.

"What are you doing?"

He didn't sound angry, but her heart hammered anyway. She'd seen how quickly his mood could change. Before she said anything, he stood behind her and she froze in place waiting for him to jerk her free.

"Let me help you." He made the offer but didn't touch her, just held his open hand toward her.

"I can manage."

"Are you going or coming?"

"Both."

"What do you mean?"

She swung her leg over and fell into the room, then pulled herself up and drug her duffle from the closet.

He stooped to lean inside the window. "I'm sorry about before. I didn't mean to scare you, but I'd had a bad dream. I do that sometimes. You know. Prison stuff."

She didn't answer, just grabbed jeans and shirts from hangers and stuffed them into the bag. "Charamel said you were a good boy, and maybe you were, but tonight, I saw a horrible man."

"I'd never hurt you, Clarke. I swear it. No matter what you think of me, you have to believe that."

Her heart stopped. He'd used her name and there was a sadness to his voice she'd never heard before. She spoke over her shoulder. "I thought you were in trouble.'"

"In a way—I was. Can I come in?"

He didn't sound dangerous anymore. He sounded…small and wounded. She nodded.

In a few seconds, he filled the doorway but didn't step into the room. "I don't remember if I knocked you over or not, but if I did, it was an accident, and I'm sorry. I'm asking you not to report it."

She turned to face him. "To who?"

"The cops."

She'd not thought of that. He was afraid she could have him arrested. This changed things. Not that she'd ever accuse him unjustly, but she'd had a bargaining chip all along and not known it. This might be the reason he'd been determined to get rid of her.

"You didn't hit me and I would never say you did if it wasn't true."

He sighed. "Thank you. Where are you gonna go?"

She moved to the bathroom and gathered her toiletries. "I don't know."

He stuck his hands in his pockets. "Stay. I won't badger you anymore about leaving. And the nightmare thing…well, now you know to leave me alone when it happens."

He sounded sincere, and she wanted to stay. If she didn't, she had no idea which direction to head. She'd worked so hard to set all this up, to start over would be difficult. Especially without Dad's help. "Okay."

"Okay." He turned and disappeared down the hall.

She wasn't sure what had happened, but something had changed between them. Whatever it was, she wouldn't question it. She'd keep doing what she was doing and hope for the best.

* * *

Bellamy wasn't sure why he'd asked the kid to stay. Perhaps it was because she'd seen the dark side of his soul and didn't judge him. He never wanted to see the fear she'd had when he yelled at her. The fact he could terrify a girl like her, frightened him.

Somewhere, deep inside was the decent person he'd been before his world had fallen apart. Maybe she was here to help him find that man again. Or he saw a connection. Both were hiding from something.

Him, from the past.

Her, from the future.


	6. Chapter 6

Clarke arranged soap bars into stacks while Raven admired the final artwork for the wrappers.

"These are so perfect, Clarke. I hate that I can't pay you for them. But if my business catches on, I promise I will."

Clarke considered drawing and painting a hobby and never expected to make money from it even though Dad had claimed she could. When she was twelve, he'd entered some of her work in Baton Rouge's Art competition, and the ribbons she'd won got her a showing in the Zimmer Gallery. It made her happy for people to like her work, but she hated the promotion. Interviews with TV and radio stations made her uncomfortable.

"I don't want you to pay."

"Are you kidding? Do you know how much package design costs? A fortune." She giggled. "But I can barter with a lifetime of free soap and whenever you need a mechanic."

"I need a favor."

"Now we're talking. What?"

"The funeral home is having a banquet to celebrate their golden anniversary. I need a dress."

"Formal or church fancy?"

"Church."

"I have just the thing. Still has the tag on it. I bought it right before I got pregnant and never wore it. After Tommy was born, I got back to my pre-baby weight but increased a dress size! Anyway, I've kept it all these years thinking I'd get back into it, but that ain't happening." Raven put the stacks into baskets and carried them to a nearby shelf. "It's baby blue. It'll look beautiful with your skin tone and eyes. When we're done, you can try it on."

"Okay. Is Bellamy Tommy's dad?"

Raven gasped and widened her eyes. "Why do you think that?"

"You didn't want me to mention him, so I thought …never mind, it's none of my business. I shouldn't have asked."

Raven sat again. "It was a stupid request. I mean, if Bellamy plans to make Arkadia his home, sooner or later, he'll find out. They all will. I just wanted to put it off as long as possible." She took a deep breath. "How are things going with him? It's been what? Three weeks since the truce?"

"Yeah. He doesn't talk about me leaving anymore, but he doesn't say much of anything."

"Well, that house has to feel like a tomb."

"I don't know how to talk to him." It never bothered her previously, or with anyone else, and Clarke didn't readily understand why she suddenly felt the need to want to talk to him, with him.

"Ask about his day. The construction. If he needs help with painting? Tell him about your day. Maybe something that happened at work. Oh, here's an idea. If you can invite someone to the banquet, ask him."

"Why?"

"You said Myles keeps asking you out, so if you go alone, he'll probably arrange for you to sit together. Plus, doing something social with Bellamy might help your relationship."

Clarke frowned. "He doesn't really like me. I mean, he doesn't fuss anymore or use that gruff tone like he did, but mostly he ignores me. Besides, why would he go on a date with me? I don't look anything like the women he brings home."

"It won't be a date. It'll be a plus one. The two of you live together, so you might as well try to become friends. Tomorrow night at dinner, promise you'll say at least one thing to start a conversation."

"Okay."

"Good, now let's go try on that dress."

* * *

The next day, Clarke couldn't concentrate on work for thinking about the promise she'd given to Raven. Idle conversation had never come easy and the idea of making small talk with Bellamy caused Clarke's stomach to cramp. She'd practiced talking to her clients and it was a good thing they were deceased or all of them would have complained. She'd smeared Mrs. Elmore's nail polish, gotten Mrs. Hadsten's hair too puffy, and nicked Mr. Rockwell's chin.

The more she thought about it, asking Bellamy to the banquet was not a good idea. Why would he even consider it? But a promise was a promise. Bellamy made her nervous, a new kind of nervosa, the kind that feels like at the top of a roller coaster. It was different than the unease she generally felt around new people and situations.

That evening, she took a seat at the table and spooned a helping of chicken spaghetti onto her plate. The pasta dish was one of her favorites and from the way Bellamy was inhaling it, one of his too.

She pushed noodles around with her fork. "I couldn't use my word today."

"What?" He raised a eyebrow at her, but she was too invested with pushing around food rather than meeting his eye. He didn't know when it happened, but he was accustomed to her now; knew when something was off. It was a subtle change - Clarke never seemed to divulge anything worthwhile, but he could _feel_ it.

"My word-of-the-day. I didn't use it." Her chest tightened. "Never mind. How was your day? How is the building going? Can I help with anything? Are you interested in going to a banquet?" The last question squeaked out because her mouth had gone dry. She reached for her glass of water and gulped.

He laid down his fork and half-smiled. "What's the word?"

She looked away. "Uxorial."

"Hmm. What's it mean?"

She squinted at him, suddenly suspicious at his prompting, almost like he wanted to talk to her. But she could see none of his typical sarcasm lined in his features, and his tone seemed genuine. As if he really was interested in her weird word of the day quirk.

"Befitting of a wife," she said finally.

"Can't help you there, but even if I could, it wouldn't count, would it? I mean you have to come up with the sentence on your own, right?" ?" The corners of his lips twitched, as if involuntary.

Clarke looked back down at her half-eaten dinner. "Yeah."

He swallowed another bite, then looked at her. "They got the toilet working in the new bathroom, so I won't have to use yours anymore. As for you helping, maybe when the rooms are ready to paint I'll let you pitch in. And this spaghetti is delicious."

He took another bite and she thought he was finished talking. Better he ignored the banquet question anyway. She shouldn't have listened to Raven.

He leaned back and rested his hands on the chair arms. "Hey, look at me."

She raised her eyes to his and braced herself.

"Is talking to me making you uncomfortable?"

She wanted to answer, but couldn't get the words out, so she nodded.

"Why?"

She lowered her head. "It's just hard for me."

He reached over and placed his finger under her chin and tilted it up. "I want to understand so explain it."

His gentle touch and the tenderness in his tone surprised her. A little jolt of electricity caused her cheeks to warm. "I don't always say the right thing, so it's better not to talk."

"You can say anything around me. If I don't understand, I'll tell you. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Now, about this banquet."

"It's a work thing. Fifty year anniversary."

"And the dress code? Date? Time?"

"Oh, it's not a date. It's a plus one."

He laughed out loud. "I meant the date of the event."

Her face flamed and she turned away again. "See what I mean?"

"I wasn't laughing _at_ you. Your answer was cute."

"Oh. Two weeks from Saturday. Dressy casual. Seven in the evening."

"I'll have to check my social calendar."

"All right." She placed her hands on the table and scooted her chair away but before she stood, he caught her wrist.

"That was a joke. You know I don't have a social calendar."

She pulled her hand free. She appreciated his attempt to let her down easy, but she'd been right. This was a bad idea. "I know you don't like me, so you don't have to go."

"Whoa. I've never said that."

He frowned around the garlic bread between his teeth, and something churned in her stomach. Longing. Desire for his approval. What was that about? She searched for something to say but came up short. An awkward silence hung between them and finally she found her voice. "I'm not stupid. I know I'm odd and people don't like different." She turned her gaze to her hands, clasped tightly together, as if she was trying to ground herself. "I dealt with it all my life," she added as an afterthought.

Her voice seemed so small and far away. He looked at her, really looked at her, shrinking in on herself, and it hit him. She really was alone, not just physically, it stabbed deeper than that. He didn't know much about her, but he could understand that. She had a friend in Raven, but even kept her at arm's length, and he knew Raven Reyes was the closest thing Clarke had since Charamel. At least he had always had Octavia, and Charamel, and even Wick.

"Hey. Look at me," he hesitantly covered her hand with his and her head snapped up. "When I got here, you were a surprise. I didn't handle it well. But I'm past that now. It isn't that I don't like you, it's I don't know you. But since you're in such a chatty mood, maybe we should try to fix that. I'll go first."

Panic rose in her throat. She didn't want to play this game because she wasn't sure she could trust him with her secrets.

"What's your connection to my grandmother?"

After a minute to consider her answer, she decided it safe enough. "My dad knew her."

"How?"

"He and your mom were friends in college."

"Interesting. Your turn."

"What are your nightmares about?"

In the blink of an eye, his expression went grim. "That's the one thing I can't talk about."

"Why?"

"I just can't. Ask something else."

"Why do you have to bring women home? Why can't you go to their house?"

"Here, I'm in control. Somewhere else, I don't know who has a key, who might show up unannounced, and sometimes the chick has kids. Besides, it's been at least two weeks since the last one."

"Nine days."

"What?"

"The last one was here nine days ago. Not two weeks."

"Damn. Sure seems longer."

She straightened in her chair. "Well, I don't like hearing the uxorial duties they exhibit."

A wide grin replaced his harsh demeanor. "You're welcome."

"What?"

"Because of my bad behavior, you used your word, so you're welcome."

"Is that another joke?"

"Yeah. A sarcastic one. You're on a roll so what else don't you like about me?"

"You smoke too much and drink too much."

"Noted. That's three negatives. Any positives?"

There were a lot of things Clarke liked about him. He made her feel safe. Now that the cats were gone, she liked having another person in the house. And the biggest surprise, she liked talking to him. It had come as a surprise to her; she hadn't anticipated finding anyone she actually enjoyed talking to, not since her dad died.

"I like that you started washing your own sheets."

He chuckled. "Yeah, well I wasn't sure my heart could take many more times of seeing you in that crazy get-up when you changed them."

"You've started to thank me for cooking."

"You go to a lot of trouble, the least I can do is be appreciative."

"I like the way you look without your shirt." She wrung her hands together, a nervous gesture, and wondered why she was nervous to begin with.

Bellamy choked on his drink. "What?"

"I like the way you look…."

He held his hand up to stop her. "I heard you. I'm just shocked."

"Why? It's very muscular and defined."

"Uh…okay…thanks."

"You're welcome," she said as a matter-of-fact, as if she were talking about the weather, and gathered up the dishes to place in the sink. He watched her, wondering what the hell had just happened.

* * *

Wells Jaha parked on the street in front of Keenan Mykulak's house, a modest white frame with green shutters and small front yard. Marigolds and pink flowers he didn't recognize filled beds on either side of the cracked sidewalk.

Even though he had all the notes from the previous investigators and the police report, he liked to treat cases as if starting from zero. Ask his own questions. Draw his own conclusions.

According to his information, and given her vocation, he'd expected a woman wearing sensible shoes, with her hair pulled into a bun. Keenan was anything but that. The woman standing in the doorway wore a bright green yoga outfit accenting her emerald eyes, and looked to be in her early thirties. A tangle of long auburn hair secured into a ponytail at the top of her head, she looked like a genie who'd just escaped her bottle.

"Come in, Mr. Jaha."

She flashed him a warm smile and his chest tightened. "Ms. Mykulak?"

"Please, call me Keenan. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Water? Tea?"

"A cup of coffee would be great."

"I just made a fresh pot. We can talk while I get it."

He followed her into the kitchen, pulled out a stool at the end of the counter, and sat.

She took cups from the cabinet. "So, you're what? Number four?"

"Guilty as charged."

Keenan laughed as she delivered the drinks and took the seat across from him. "That Diana. She just won't give up."

"You say that as if she should."

"Wells…may I call you Wells?"

The tone of her voice stirred something in him. Five years since Sasha died, he'd been alone too long. He shook the thought of his wife away and refocused. "Please do."

Keenan sipped, then set her cup on the saucer without a sound. "I suspect you'll be the last. Time's running out for Diana."

Removing a pen and small spiral from his pocket, he made a notation. "What does that mean?"

"Once the girl turns twenty-five, she gets control of the company and there won't be much the gold digger can do. Jake… Mr. Griffin made sure of that. She'll lose her place on the board and the salary that goes with it, so she's desperate."

Wells swirled cream into his cup. "Maybe you should start at the beginning."

"I suppose you know the basic background. Abby, Mr. Griffin's first wife and the girl's mom, died in a car accident when the little girl was five. Terrible thing. Happened during a strong storm. Poor girl was in the car with her dead mother for almost an hour before help came. Anyway, back to Diana. She came into the picture four years later. Mr. Griffin was lonely and she was beautiful…and young. No offense, but most men are idiots when a pretty woman gives them attention."

He grinned. Couldn't deny that. Keenan was younger and he was already enjoying her company. "None taken."

"You married, Wells?"

Damn, there was that gut feeling again. "Widowed. You?"

"Nope. Not for three years, when I caught him face deep in my next door neighbor's cunt."

He couldn't help but laugh. This woman had spunk. "Sorry."

"Yeah, well she was younger, too. Sorry, I keep getting sidetracked. For a while Diana was okay. As long as Jake could keep pace with her, but then he got sick. The first round of chemo got him in remission, but eventually the cancer came back. The last eighteen months of his life were awful."

Wells ran his hand over his jaw. "Mrs. Sydney-Griffin seems to think the girl had some type of mental break when her dad died."

Keenan flapped her hand in the air. "She wishes. Let me clue you in on the widow. The day of the funeral, she fired every last one of us. Brought in her own people."

Wells jotted something in the notebook and looked up at his hostess. "I understand that's the day the girl went missing."

"It's the day she left because she knew it was the only time she'd be safe from Diana. If you solve the case, she'll have a doctor drug the kid in order to get power of attorney. Once she has that, she'll stick her in some institution, and Diana will sell the company and become a very rich woman."

"I thought she was already rich."

"Not hardly. Like I said. A house and company salary that's about to expire. Besides, greedy people never have enough."

"If the woman is as evil as you say, why hire me to find her? Why not a hit man instead?"

Keenan laughed. "Like I said, Mr. Griffin arranged things. If the girl dies, then the company will be sold and the proceeds divided between different charities. Diana's only hope is to have things happen the way I mentioned."

Wells glanced at his watch, then pushed away from the table. "Well, I appreciate the information and coffee. I know from our earlier phone conversation you have an appointment so I'll get out of your hair."

Keenan rose too, stepped closer, and laid her hand on his forearm. "I can tell you're a man with a big heart, so do the right thing and forget about finding the girl. Wherever she is, she's better off."

* * *

Bellamy couldn't decide if the woman snoring next to him, the approaching storm or the compliment from Clarke kept him awake. He chuckled. Wasn't sure the kid considered it flattery. She'd praised his physique with the same emotion as she'd thanked him for doing laundry. If any other woman had mentioned his bare chest he would have taken it as flirtation, but not with her.

For the first time since arriving in Arkadia, he'd learned something about her. His mom's old yearbooks were bound to be packed away somewhere in the house. If he found them, maybe he'd figure out Clarke's identity and the reason she came here. Not that it mattered anymore, because it didn't. She needed him…and he liked being needed. Octavia was old enough to take care of herself, now. She didn't need him, not anymore. But Clarke did.

An angry burst of thunder shook the house and lightning ripped the sky apart. The weather report claimed a chance of hail, so he'd taken time to move the kid's car into the shed with his Harley. It'd been a while since he'd weathered a violent storm, but he remembered it like it was yesterday. He and Octavia had come to spend the last month of summer with Charamel, and the sky had opened and dumped the largest hail stones he'd seen. Once the surge ended, he ran outside to gather the specimens. Charamel kept them in the freezer until Christmas.

The woman next to him, Erica…or was it Echo? He couldn't be sure. The music blasted in the bar so loudly he wasn't certain he'd heard what she said. Easy way around that. He just called her lovey-dovey names. Baby. Honey. Sweetie. Girls liked that. Whoever she was, she snored like a lumberjack.

He needed a smoke and a drink. The kid's voice rang in his ears. Smoke too much. Drink too much. Why do you bring women home? He'd pass on the whiskey and cigarette. Maybe the kid was right. He needed to cut down on his bad habits. One vice at a time.

He shifted in bed as the first stone hit the tin roof…then another…and another, until the place sounded like it was being pelted by gunfire. All the while, _baby-honey-sweetie_ kept right on sawing logs. Just as he decided to get up and look outside, a shadow blocked the light show coming through the window.

He blinked, then blinked again unsure of what he saw. Wrapped in a blanket, Clarke laid down on top of the cover next to him. He scooted over to make room, then propped his head in his hand and tried to keep his voice down, not that it'd wake up sleeping lumberjack. "What the hell are you doing?"

She snuggled into him. "I don't want to be in there by myself."

His heart pounded harder than the hail. A whispered yell proved to be a challenge. "Maybe so, but you can't sleep with me. Did you notice I have a woman in here?"

"You're finished with her."

"How do you know?"

Clarke turned to face him and her breath floated over his neck. "Weeknights, you do it one time. Weekends, multiple times. It's Thursday."

A shiver ran up his spine. He sucked in a deep breath and gestured over his shoulder. "Holy shit. Get out of this bed right now before you wake her up."

Clarke rolled off the mattress and settled on the floor. "I'll just sleep down here."

He hung his head off the side. "No. You will not. Get out of this room before I carry you out. And if I have to do that, you're going to see a lot more than my bare chest. Understand?"

Even in the dark, he could see her eyes widen. "Oh. You mean…you're not…"

"That's exactly what I mean. Go to the living room. I'll be there in a minute."

"Okay."

Bellamy eased off the mattress and pulled on his jeans and tee shirt. What the hell was the kid thinking? All he needed was for his guest to wake and find another girl in bed.

In the living room he found Clarke huddled on the sofa, chin resting on knees, arms wrapped tight around her legs. Another crack of thunder caused her to flinch. He sat next to her. She stiffened in retaliation, as if showing putting on a bravado. Moments passed before she relaxed, seemingly finding ease in his presence. "Before I showed up and it stormed, what did you do?"

"I had the cats."

"Well, you can't come into my room when I have a guest. That's not appropriate."

"Okay. I'm sorry."

She shivered, then rose and yanked the blanket tighter. Then her chin quivered and his throat thickened with guilt. She wasn't pretending. The fear in her eyes was as real as what he'd seen in inmates their first day in the yard. He remembered that feeling. Constant dread. Night terrors. Always looking over his shoulder. He took a deep breath, came to his feet, and followed her down the hallway.

She slipped into bed and he slid the corner chair closer and dropped into it. "I'll sit with you until you fall asleep. How will that be?"

"Good."

"Why do storms frighten you so much?"

"Because that's when bad things happen."

"Like what?"

At first, he didn't think she would answer, but then she wiped at her cheeks and faced him.

"My mom died during a storm."

Clarke pulled the sheet to her face and wiped tears now coming faster. Bellamy reached for her hand. He'd begun to have a soft spot for the kid and wasn't sure that was a good thing.

Her fingers tighten around his. "My dad used to hold my hand until I fell asleep during bad weather."

God, he wanted to crawl in next to her. Wrap her in his arms and say it'd get better, but the truth was, it didn't. He'd suffered the loss of his mother and even now, when he thought of her, he went right back to the twelve year-old kid he'd been when he saw her for the last time. If there was any consolation, it was she'd not been alive to see him go to prison.

"Well, I can do that."

"I'll try to be quick so you can get back to your bed partner."

He stroked the top of her hand with his thumb. "No hurry. Turns out it's Thursday and I'm done with her."

"Is that a joke?"

"Yeah."

She smiled and closed her eyes.

Dozing sporadically, Bellamy didn't know how long he sat there. With all the memories running through his mind, he lost track of time. After Aurora's death, he'd gone to live with his deadbeat dad and never bonded with him or his step-mother. Wick, his stepbrother, was half alright and he made an effort at his sister's insistence. If anything, Wick hated Bellamy's old man, too, and that was easy camaraderie. _The enemy of my enemy is my friend._

Even though his father was shit, at least he had Octavia. Until he got arrested. Then he became the example of evil. Yeah, he was the bad seed. The terrible influence. The biggest mistake.

Dad took no responsibility for screwing around while still married to Bellamy's mom. Somehow, that was her fault. And her death, too. As if she wanted to die and force him to raise Bellamy and Octavia.

Mom was gone. Charamel was gone. Dad didn't give a shit. Octavia had her own life - a good job and a steady boyfriend who adored her. Wick had a fiancée and was getting his shit together. Bellamy stared at Clarke sleeping peacefully. She depended on him. And it'd been a long time since anyone had. He laughed to himself. The remark about liking him without his shirt was the last thing he expected her to say. He'd never met anybody like her and she was beginning to trust him. It seemed a phenomenal feat, since Clarke Griffin didn't seem the type to readily trust anyone.

Eventually, she'd tell him what or who she was hiding from.

He picked up her phone and checked the time. In two more hours, it'd be dawn. The storm had passed. Time to return to bed but for some reason getting back to the snoring barfly didn't interest him.

He stared at the cell. If he wanted to snoop and she didn't have it locked, he might be able to learn more about her. No. Bad choice. They were becoming friends and he didn't want to jeopardize that. He forced himself to his feet. Wouldn't be wise to have his visitor come looking and find him here. He eased down the hall, but instead of going into his room, he went to the kitchen to make coffee.

Even though he was wide awake, he splashed water on his face, dried it with a dish towel, then neatly folded it. The kid would give him too much grief if he didn't. He poured his coffee, added a splash of milk and whisky, then wandered toward the back porch. Steam rose from his cup and sent a thin swirl into the damp air. A bird, probably an owl or hawk, swooped low. Propping a hip onto the railing, he closed his eyes and listened to the night sounds.

When he'd first gone to prison, he dreamed of this. The peaceful song of nature. Crickets. Birds. Frogs. This is where he belonged and never intended to leave again. He chuckled. Except later this morning, he'd have to drive to Breaux Bridge to get the shower hardware he'd forgotten to purchase. While he was in town, he'd buy something suitable for the banquet.

He'd not agreed to go, but he would. Didn't want to leave Clarke without a plus one. He just hoped her contempt for fashion didn't carry over to social events.

Behind him the door opened and _lovey-dovey_ stepped onto the deck. "I wondered where you got off to. You're an early riser."

"The storm woke me and I couldn't go back to sleep."

She rubbed her eyes. "There was a storm?"

 _Yeah. Almost as loud as your snoring._ "Yeah. You slept right through it."

She giggled. "I get that way when I drink. Alcohol puts me out like a light."

"You want some coffee?"

"No, thanks. I better go. Need to be home to see my kids before they leave for school."

She turned, and he followed her inside. She hiked her purse strap over her shoulder, faced him, tiptoed and planted a sweet kiss on his cheek. "I had a nice time."

"Yeah. Me, too." Total lie.

He stood at the door and watched her tail-lights disappear, then heaved a deep breath. Why was he doing this? A different woman every time and none of them meant a thing. He picked up his cigarettes and shook one out of the package, then put it back. The kid was right. Too many bad habits and smoking was the first to go.

"Is your friend gone?"

He turned to face her. She looked a mess, curly blond and pink bed head stuck to her face. Dark half-moons under her eyes. She looked like an adorably wrecked cotton candy mess, and he could get used to seeing that everyday. Especially if he was the reason she'd wake up looking wrecked. He cleared his throat, shoving that thought away. "Yeah. Hey, I'm going into Breaux Bridge today to pick up some supplies. You need anything?"

"No, thanks."

"Thought I'd buy a pair of khakis and a new shirt for the banquet. You got something to wear?"

"You're going with me?"

"Why not? Probably get a fancy meal out of it, right? Not that it will be any better than what you cook, but I don't want you to be the only one there without an escort. So, you have a dress?"

"I borrowed one from Raven."

The answer stopped him. Clarke was short and curvy where Raven was willow and sharp edges. "Does it fit?"

"Yeah. She bought it when she got—I mean she bought it a long time ago. It doesn't fit her anymore. It's blue."

Bellamy went back to the pot and refilled his cup. "Is that your favorite color?"

"I don't know. I guess I don't have one."

"What did you wear to your prom?"

"I was homeschooled."

That might explain why she was socially awkward. Parents thought they were doing the right thing by isolating their kids from the evil of the world, and it worked until the children left home, then they went wild to make up for lost time. Deny a kid chocolate, he'll eat it until he pukes the first chance he gets.

"So, no high school dances for you?"

He took a minute to recall his senior prom. He'd gotten lucky with Jessica Wilson, head cheerleader and Homecoming Queen. He'd been her date and half-time escort. Man, that had been a night to remember. No backseat sex for her. She'd taken him to her parent's lake house. Turned out she had a list of things she wanted to try and he'd been more than happy to help. Clarke's voice brought him out of his reverie.

"No."

There was no sadness in her voice. No poor pitiful me I-didn't-have-a-prom. Just stated the facts as if her life was the same as everyone else. Clearly it wasn't. He could fix that, and this new bit of information gave him an idea.


	7. Chapter 7

Before Bellamy started wardrobe shopping, he made a quick stop by the building supply. He was eager to get the renovations done so he could invite Octavia and his step brother, Kyle Wick, before Octavia started her new job.

Octavia would start as a junior associate at her boyfriend's father's firm, but she was on the fast track to becoming a full partner in one of the most prestigious law firms in New Orleans.

At least Dad had Octavia and – Wick, even - to be proud of, but what else was new? Even when Bellamy had gotten a full athletic scholarship to University of Alabama in Tuscaloosa, it hadn't won Dad's favor. No matter how hard Bellamy tried, nothing had ever been enough. Thank goodness he finally understood and didn't give a shit.

Sure, he'd once dreamed of being a CEO of a major company, if for no other reason than to prove he could amount to something regardless of what the old man thought. But truth was Bellamy had no control over how his father or anyone else judged him. God knew he'd tried that route. Bent over backwards to make the best grades, worked hard to excel in football and set the right example. That's why it'd been a surprise when Dad asked his buddy, Alex, to give Bellamy a summer part-time job.

Bellamy had taken the gesture as a sign things were getting better with his father. And they had for a while, but when the place burned down, Dad had been first in line to believe the worst. He'd known Alex Shumway for twenty years. No way would he lie. Yeah. Right. Wonder what Dad thought about Shumway now?

Two sharp raps on the back of the truck shook the thought from his mind. The delivery man closed the tailgate. "You're good to go, Mr. Blake. Thank you for your business."

Bellamy waved to the loader, then drove away. Fifteen minutes later, he parked in front of Dan's Duds. Stupid name, but the clothes in the window looked good. It'd been a long time since he'd bought anything but jeans and casual shirts, so he figured a professional's help couldn't hurt.

Turned out, Dan was quite the salesman and Bellamy bought more than he needed. As he loaded the shopping bags into the backseat, a young boy carrying a box, approached. A mop of brown hair fell in waves over his small head. He wore an oversized Spongebob shirt and wrinkled plaid shorts. Green sneakers had holes in both toes. He looked to be about five and should be in school.

"Hey, mister. You want a puppy? I just got one left." He set the box down and removed the scraggly dog. "He's house broken and everything."

Mixed breed for sure, but resembled a Wirehaired Terrier, mostly brown, with a tuft of gray between ears and around his muzzle. Talk about puppy dog eyes. Those big chocolate peepers stared up at him as if begging for a new home. "What's the everything?"

"Huh?"

Bellamy scanned the street for an adult, but saw none. Who'd let a kid this age camp out downtown with no supervision? "You said house broke and everything, so what's the everything you're talking about?"

"Oh. Well, he doesn't have fleas."

Bellamy shouldn't be teasing the kid, but he couldn't help himself. "Good to know, but I don't need a pet."

The boy shoved the dog toward Bellamy and without thinking, he took it.

"See, Mutt likes you."

Damn, now he knew his name. Bellamy tried not to look at the scruffy mongrel but he licked his hand. He came to his senses and thrust him back to the boy. "Sorry, no deal."

The kid cradled the pup, sat down on the sidewalk and cried.

Bellamy heaved a deep breath. _Holy hell._

When he got back home workers were in full swing. Bellamy unloaded, put everything away, and strapped on his tool belt. In the new bedroom, two men taped and bedded sheetrock, while in the bathroom another guy laid tile.

Bellamy headed back outside to work on the porch addition. Over the last year, he'd given a lot of thought to how he wanted his master suite. Spacious enough for a king-sized bed. French doors opening out to a deck. Wood-burning fireplace. Surround sound. He figured this would be a trial run for his future cabin.

By the time the carpenters left for the day, he noticed real progress. Paint and carpeting would come next. Bricklayers still had the chimney to finish, but the stone fireplace and hearth was ready for winter. And soon he'd have an inside shower.

From the radio Bellamy had brought outside, a new country song blared. Bellamy hammered to the beat, nailing the last board. He didn't know why he was in such a good mood. Maybe it was because the house was finally coming together. Or because he took pride in his accomplishment. Or perhaps the encounter with the kid in town. Whatever it was, he shuffled a couple of dance moves and twirled around.

Clarke stood in the doorway, holding the puppy from earlier.

He holstered the hammer and plastered on his poker face. "Where'd that come from?"

She held the animal close to her chest. "I found him outside. Can we keep him, or are you an enemy of dogs, too?"

"I'm not an enemy of anything, but you have to admit, The Golden Girls needed to go. Even the vet said one of them was sick. She was in pain."

"Well, this dog looks healthy."

Bellamy moved closer, then leaned down and studied the pooch. "Looks a little wormy to me."

"He's just small. I'll keep him in my room. You won't even know he's here."

He let the silence hang between them. Wouldn't want her to think he'd gone soft. "Tell you what. I'll let you keep him if I can name him."

She pulled her brows together. "I've already thought of names. I like Finley or Bentley."

He shook his head. "Those are stupid names. I'm thinking…Crassus."

"No. That's terrible."

"Let him decide. Put him down."

She eased the pup to the floor.

Bellamy crouched. "Here, Crassus. Come on boy."

The puppy scampered to him and licked his outstretched fingers. "See, he likes it."

Clarke frowned. "Well, I don't."

Bellamy rose to full height and smiled at her. "Since we need to go to town for dog food, I'll take you to get a burger. You won't have to cook."

She lowered her head. "I don't really…"

"I know. You don't like crowds. We'll drive through and get something then go to the park and eat in the truck. How about it?"

Bellamy saw the wheels turning in her head. Other than work or visiting Raven, he didn't think Clarke ever left the house.

"Okay."

"Good. Just give me time to shower and change."

"I have dough in the fridge I should knead before we go. Do I have time?"

"For homemade bread?"

"Cinnamon rolls."

"Damn right you have time." He smiled as he went to get a towel and washcloth.

Behind him, Clarke called the dog. "Come on, Cas."

She'd given the dog a stupid name after all.

* * *

By the time Clarke put the puppy in the laundry room, washed her hands, and removed the dough from the fridge, Bellamy was in the outdoor shower.

She'd learned of this cold rice recipe from one of the cooking shows. It made the most delicious cinnamon rolls she'd ever had. She sank her fingers into the soft mound. _Squish._

A few minutes later, Bellamy threw the blue tarp open and stepped outside, one towel wrapped around his waist and holding another.

 _Squish._

He threw the extra bath towel over his shoulder and zig-zagged it across his upper back.

 _Squish, squish._

Her breath caught, stomach fluttered, fingers froze. He turned sideways, dried his chest, then ran a hand through his hair. She should look away, or at least close her eyes, but couldn't. She understood why he had no trouble picking up women. Although he wasn't Hollywood handsome with his dark skin and freckles, now that he didn't scowl all the time, he was more attractive. A lot more. Broad shoulders, muscled biceps, taut belly with a wicked scar. She appreciated both sexes equally, but she had never been so distracted by anyone or felt the heat in her belly before. Not even with Lexa.

She'd seen him half-naked before, but something about how the sunlight gilded his tanned body caused her heart to hammer.

"Uh?" Caught up in the moment, she'd not heard him come in.

"I asked if you were done."

She tried to pull her hands free, but couldn't get them to move. "Oh. Yeah. Almost."

"Good, I'll get dressed, then we'll head out."

He disappeared down the hall. She hoped she hadn't killed the yeast.

* * *

He maneuvered into a spot under the biggest oak in the park, and the late afternoon sunlight speckled the hood of his truck like a disco ball. During the drive, what little conversation he and Clarke had concerned the new member of their household. She'd presented her best case to change the dog's name, but Bellamy stuck to his guns. He wasn't sure if her argument was sincere but it gave her the opportunity to use her word of the day: Pejorative, which meant expressing disapproval or suggesting something is not good or is of no importance.

Bellamy swirled a French fry into ketchup. "Turns out, you and I have a lot in common."

"We do?"

"Sure. We've both lost our mothers. We loved Charamel. We like living in the farmhouse."

She pinched off a bite of burger and put it in her mouth. She didn't eat much. Most nights, she just chased food around her plate with a fork.

Bellamy shoved another potato into his mouth. "Tell me about your dad."

"He died three years ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"Why? It isn't your fault."

Her abruptness always surprised him. "What happened?"

"Pancreatic cancer."

Hoots and hollers came from a nearby basketball court where a group of teenagers played one-on-one. Clarke gazed at the team, then slid low in her seat.

Bellamy studied the boys, then looked at her. "What's wrong?"

"I work with one of those guys. I don't want him to see me."

"Why?"

"I just don't."

Bellamy craned his neck for a better look. Each boy wore a numbered jersey, knee length gym shorts, and fancy high-tops. "Which one?"

"Number twelve."

"Has he been mean to you?"

"No. He keeps asking me out and I don't want to go."

Bellamy took another look. Tall and thin, the boy put a three pointer in the basket, then pranced like a show-horse. Just a guy being a guy. He remembered those carefree days. For him, it'd been football, but every sport was the same when it came to teamwork.

"Any particular reason?"

"He's seventeen."

Bellamy chuckled. "Don't want to be labeled a cougar?"

"Is that a joke?"

He laughed harder. "Yeah. Kinda."

She gathered her leftovers and crammed them back in the to-go bag. "Are you done?"

He handed her his trash and she stuffed it in the bag. He wanted to get her talking again. "So, where'd you grow up?"

"Are we playing the question answer game?"

"Sure."

"Okay. In a city."

He faced her and raised a brow. "You're being sarcastic."

"I am? I thought I was just avoiding the question. My turn. Where were you raised?"

Damn. This was a side he'd not seen before, and he liked it. "Okay, princess." That got a slight smile from her. Another first. "Just outside of Baton Rouge." Ah, something flickered in her eyes. Maybe that was her hometown as well. He recapped. Raised in Baton Rouge. Home schooled. Both parents dead. He stopped to do the math. If the kid was twenty four, and she'd been five when her mother died, then the accident happened in 1997.

Little by little, he was finding out the identity of his housemate. Once he did, he'd be able to figure out why she was in Arkadia and who she was hiding from.

* * *

Wells focused on his watch and fidgeted in the chair. This was his first face-to-face meeting with Diana Sydney-Griffin. He'd worked the case hard for three months and didn't have much to report, but he was making progress. Trouble was, the more he found out about the woman the less he wanted to find the girl.

The estate oozed opulence. Outside, he'd entered through a wrought-iron gate and traveled a pebbled drive to a sprawling two-story Georgian style. The interior was just as impressive. Marble floors. Mahogany stairs curving twenty feet up to the second level. The Triple Crown molding probably cost more than he made in a year. Crystal chandeliers hung above him and in the adjoining room. If everything the former housekeeper said about the widow was true, he understood her desperation to find her step-daughter. A woman used to this lifestyle would do anything to keep it.

He'd gone back to see Keenan Mykulak one more time with the lame excuse of following up on a couple of points, but the truth was he liked her and was trying to figure out how to ask her for a date. He'd been out of circulation too long and she was the first female he found attractive since his wife died.

"Mr. Jaha?"

He looked up at the maid standing in the doorway. "Yes, ma'am."

"Mrs. Sydney-Griffin will see you now. This way, please."

She led him into a room with arched bookcases and oval windows with a panoramic view of a small lake. His current employer sat behind an ornate desk. _Holy shit._ Keenan had mentioned the widow's beauty, but Wells wasn't prepared for just how beautiful.

Long blond curls cascaded to her shoulders while fringed bangs topped emerald eyes hooded by thick lashes. Full breasts peeked above the square neckline of her royal blue silk dress. And she smelled good, too. Something floral with a hint of cinnamon. Everything about her exuded sex and money. Jake Griffin had been one lucky bastard. At least for a while.

She sat ruler straight as if on a throne. The only thing missing, a crown. Suddenly, he felt like the court jester.

She smiled and rose to her full height. Perfect hour-glass figure. "Come in, Mr. Jaha." She offered her hand, and he took it. "It's so nice to finally meet you in person." She motioned for him to sit.

He released her palm and eased into one of the two dark green velvet chairs facing her.

She reclaimed her seat and shuffled through papers. "I appreciate you sending weekly reports. However, it seems you've made no new discoveries. Simply verified the prior investigators findings. That's disappointing."

"True, but I'm on the right track. Once the cops dropped the case, nobody canvassed the website you set up when the girl disappeared. I' m in the process of tracking down every person who has visited the site. It's a tedious procedure, but I have two computer techs tracing each IP address. I think that's our best shot at finding her."

"How so?"

"Even though she's no longer in the news, there may be a visitor to the site who knows something. Maybe a friend she's made or a guy she's dated. Sooner or later, she's bound to confide in someone and they'll want to know more about her. When that happens, chances are, they'll visit the site and we'll be able to locate her."

Diana tapped her nails on the desk. "I'm impressed, but you say tedious. How long do you think it will take?"

"Of those hits we're already checking, probably another month. If we don't get a lead among those, then it's just a crap shoot. Could be weeks. Could be never. Concerning her physical route, I know she took a bus to Oklahoma, but that's where the trail goes cold."

Wells fought the urge to ask about the kid's inheritance and why Diana believed a girl would run away from such a mass of wealth, but thought better of it. No need to rile her. She was paying him damn good money. Later, he planned to visit Becca Pramheda, the lady who'd been running the company since the owner died.

By the time Wells headed downtown, he'd replayed the first impression of Diana. She wasn't just beautiful, she was smart. Street smart. No doubt she'd educated herself on how to get a man's attention by stroking his ego. Beauty and manipulation was a dangerous combination. He'd known plenty of women like her. But he'd had his fill of protecting government officials and their sordid affairs.

Wells was thankful Griffin Steel provided valet parking. Anytime he could save his knees some stress he took it. The high rise loomed over most of the surrounding landscape. Fifty stories of curved blue glass and metal reflecting light in all directions. Wells took the elevator to the twenty-ninth floor. He hated heights, especially when every angle provided a view of the altitude.

As he got off the elevator, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face getting into one across the room. He wondered what business Keenan had in this building.

After introductions, Wells dropped into a chair and got right to the point. "What happens to your job once Lark Griffin takes over?"

"I retire."

Oh, so this was how it would be. Answer questions as if on the witness stand. Say no more than necessary. "Forced or your choice?"

Becca shouldered back in her executive chair. "My choice."

Wells leaned forward. "Look, I'm not your enemy. Just trying to do my job."

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not so sure about that. You work for Diana and that puts you on the opposing team."

"So you won't help me?"

"Jake was like a brother. He made one mistake in his life and that was marrying her. She fooled us all. Even I thought it was a good match. The age difference bothered me, but I believed she loved him and she doted on the girl. Turned out Diana was a money grabbing slut."

Wells blinked at the strong language. He had yet to find anyone who liked the woman. "Enlighten me."

"She wasn't faithful. Jake's long-term employees kept quiet for a while because they didn't want to hurt him, but one of them finally came to me. Once she did, I hired an investigator and gathered proof. By then, Jake was sick again. He wasn't up to a bitter divorce battle, so he endured it."

The CEO rested her arms on her desk. "I promised Jake I'd stay until Lark came back."

Wells flipped through his notes. "According to her step-mother, the girl isn't capable of running the business."

Becca's face reddened. "That's bullshit. With my help, she'll be fine. I'll remain on the board and be her closest advisor. Just like I was to her father."

"Sounds to me like you might know her whereabouts. Do you?"

She laughed. "Diana thinks the same thing and believe me, she's offered plenty to find out, but I can honestly say, I have no idea."

When Ms. Pramheda rose, Wells got the message. This meeting was over.

As he drove to Keenan Mykulak's house, he considered what he'd do when he found the girl. It was hard to fight the consensus nobody but Diana wanted her brought home. He hated playing for the wrong team because he'd spent twenty-five years fighting bad guys. Now it seemed he'd joined forces with them.

He wheeled into Keenan's drive and found her stooped over weeding flower beds. As he strode across the lawn, she looked up, shaded her eyes, and smiled. "Well, hello you. More questions to clear up?"

"Just two. Do you know where Lark Griffin is?"

Keenan removed her gloves and slapped them against her leg to dust the dirt away. "No."

"Would you tell me if you did?"

She thought a moment before she answered, then smiled again. "Yes. But I wouldn't tell you where."

 _Damn._ Perfect answer. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"

* * *

For two days nobody died in Arkadia and Clarke didn't work. But all the activity at the house was too much for her to deal with, so each morning after breakfast, she packed food and art supplies, put Crassus on a leash, and headed to the treehouse.

The first day, she didn't see Bellamy until she returned home in the evening. She figured it'd be the same today.

After blocking the doorway with her cooler to keep the puppy safe, she'd folded a towel and placed it in the corner where he'd slept for the last hour. She'd spent the morning sketching Crassus and Bellamy. Mostly Bellamy. She couldn't get the image of his water splashed body out of her head. Then later, when they'd gone to the park, the way light sifted through the tree cast his strong features in an interesting way. She'd wanted to capture the memory before it faded.

She'd never used male models or drawn nudes, but something about him excited her. Well, maybe excited wasn't the right word.

When Bellamy came from the shower, Clarke's stomach tingled, her heart raced, and even worse, possibly tightened. That was not good.

Bellamy's voice echoed through the pines. He was headed her way. She closed the pad containing his sketches and put it away.

"Hey! Are you up there?"

She leaned out the opening. "Yes. What are you doing here?"

"I'm coming up."

She scooted back to let him pass.

Crassus came to him. "Hey, boy." The pup rolled over and Bellamy scratched his belly, then looked at Clarke. "I can't believe this place is in such good shape. When you mentioned it yesterday, I wanted to see it." He inched deeper inside. "My grandpa and I built it. Some of my best memories were made in this house."

"I like coming here."

He pushed back with his feet, grabbed the towel from the corner, reclined, and propped it under his head. "What do you do up here?"

"Draw."

He rolled to his elbow and rested head in hand. "In this?" He reached for the tablet and she hesitantly let him have it.

He sat up again and flipped pages as she worried her bottom lip, suddenly overcome with nervousness at him seeing her drawings, especially the ones of him. She hoped momentarily he would not flip that far back. He stopped on a page halfway through of the forest, trees and limbs reaching skyward to caress the stars. "Wow. These are great. I mean, I knew you were an artist from the mural, but you're _really_ good."

"Thanks." She grabbed for the tablet and slammed it shut, trying to slow her movements as to not make him suspicious enough to continue pursuing through the pages. Somehow, the idea of him seeing the drawings she drew of him made her apprehensive as her heart pounded nervously in her ears. It seemed too personal.

He laid back again and Crassus crawled onto his chest.

"Hey, I need to talk to you about something. The work on the house is almost finished and as soon as it is, I plan to invite Octavia and Wick for a visit. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Where will they sleep?"

"I'll stay where I am now, and O in the new bedroom. Wick can bunk with me. That way, we won't disturb you."

"For how long?"

"Just a few days. I hope it works out for them to come during the Arkadia Festival."

Clarke shoved the cooler back against the opening and laid down next to Bellamy. She liked being close to him. "Okay."

"Good deal." He yawned. "I may take a little nap."

"You should because you're a sedulous man."

"Word of the day?"

"Yeah."

He whispered a laugh. "Let me guess. It means sexy."

"No. Hard working." She took a deep breath. "But you are sexy."


	8. Chapter 8

Scents of lavender and vanilla hung in the air as Raven sealed the last two boxes of soap, slid them to Harper and Clarke for shipping labels, then puffed a strand of hair from her eyes. "My online presence is paying off." Raven had spent an hour each day for the past few weeks following different stores on Facebook, then posted photos of her products. Of the six companies who visited her site, two placed orders.

Harper pressed the sticker onto the carton. "I'm familiar with Peabody's in New Orleans, but not Balwen's in Shreveport."

"It has everything you can imagine. From bath products to home interiors," Clarke said.

"You've been there?"

"Uh, yeah. A long time ago."

Clarke didn't seem like a city girl or the type to shop in an upscale boutique. But her eyes flickered as if she'd said too much, so Raven wondered if that's where she was from.

Raven glanced at Harper. "I've been thinking I'd find someone to represent my line at the home and gift show in NOLA next September. That would give me time to build inventory."

"Holy hell. I have an idea. Why don't we check into renting a space and do it ourselves. By then, I should have my jewelry line going. That way, we wouldn't have to pay a middle man." She pressed a hand to her chest and shrugged. "I've been told I have natural sales skills so who better to promote our stuff than moi?"

Raven stacked the shipping boxes by the door. "Bad thing about that is we'll have to come up with money and I have no idea how much those spots cost."

Harper pulled out her phone and typed. "I've put it on my to-do list. I'll check on that and get back to you." Then she looked at Clarke. "You all set for your big date?"

"It's a plus one."

"Call it whatever you like, but you said he bought new clothes, so I'd say it's a date. You gonna let him kiss you good night?"

Raven shot Miss Enthusiastic a glare. "Harper!"

Clarke's face reddened, and that weird giddy excitement in her stomach was back in full force. It was entirely unnerving. Maybe she was getting sick, but the symptoms were all wrong.

"Hey. Just saying she needs to be prepared."

"I'd like to kiss him."

Raven snapped her head around so fast, she almost got whiplash. "Are you kidding?"

"No."

Harper put her cell away and focused on Clarke. "Has Bellamy changed? Just a few weeks ago you called him a jerk."

"He's stopped drinking and smoking so much. He hasn't gone out since the bad storm. I think he's been too tired because he works so hard on the house. And, he let me keep Crassus."

At the sound of his name, the puppy rose from his sleeping spot in the corner and trotted to Clarke. She lifted him into her arms.

To emphasize her advice, Raven leaned forward and narrowed her eyes. "If you fall for him, you'll get hurt. The men in that family have a history of not being able to commit."

Clarke shook her head. "What do you mean?"

Raven shouldn't have said anything, but Clarke was an impressionable girl, probably with no experience with a player like Bellamy. As a friend, she was duty bound to warn her. "While Malcolm was married to Bellamy's mom, he went and fooled around with another woman, and Aurora was stupid enough to think he'd never cheat on her, but he did." Raven removed her apron, hung it on a hook by the door, and spoke over her shoulder. "Sad thing about it—Bellamy and Aurora knew he was unfaithful. He always had a woman on the side. Kids learn by example. I rest my case."

"Bellamy's not his father," Clarke said, her voice rising an octave. "They're coming for a visit." She amended.

Raven's breath caught in the back of her throat. "When?"

"As soon as the house is finished."

"His dad, too?"

"No. Just his sister and step-brother."

"Yeah, that's what I figured. Bellamy doesn't speak to his father." The soap molds back in place, she grabbed a rag and viciously wiped the counter. "You be sure and let me know when they're coming."

Harper finished applying a coat of lipstick, then stuck the tube and compact back in her purse. "Me, too. Man, the last time I saw those two was at Charamel's service. Wick isn't bad looking, but Octavia is hot. I wanted to flirt with her, but thought the situation was inappropriate. You know, it being her grandmother's funeral and all." She pulled her hair to the top of her head and wrapped a rubber band around it. "I have a feeling if I was alone with either of the Blake's, I'd need a whole lot of control to keep my panties on." She raked fingers through the strands of her ponytail. "Hey, I don't blame you for wanting Bellamy. But Raven's probably right. Heartbreak starts with a kiss."

After Clarke and Harper left, Raven grabbed a broom and swept the floor with a vengeance. Bellamy coming to Arkadia had messed up everything. It was wrong for her to wish he'd stayed in prison, but her life would be easier if he had. Now, she'd have to deal with Wick and that created a problem. She'd never been good at lying and if he so much as suspected Tommy was his, she wouldn't be able to keep it from him. The thought of seeing him again unnerved her, and she had heard of his engagement several months ago. It'd even been in the local papers, as if a small town boy who left and got engaged was breaking news.

Her fingers throbbed from gripping the broom. She stopped and rubbed her hands together, only to realize her heart ached more. If Wick discovered her secret, he'd fight for custody. What if his wife-to-be was a total bitch?

Raven's head spun. She dragged out a stool and sat. The thought of alternating holidays and every other weekend with her son was too much. She slowly rose, leaned the broom against the counter and stepped outside into the early evening air. She inhaled a mixture of pine, wild privet and her mother's fried chicken. Another thought tortured her. From the time Tommy could sit in his high chair, he'd joined them at the family table. Would Wick's new wife have the same tradition? Could she even cook?

Raven shoved her hands into the pockets of her thrift store red jacket and took off to find her son. No doubt Wick could provide more for Tommy than her pocket book. As her son got older would he be so impressed with all the toys and gadgets Wick bought and fixed that he'd prefer to live with his dad?

Sunlight sifted through the trees like laser beams, and a murder of crows scattered among the limbs. This is where Tommy belonged. In the woods conquering imaginary monsters, fighting evil, and saving the planet. Riding his imaginary steed on a make-believe trail ride. Pretending to soar above the clouds into fantasy lands and finding earthworms and frogs was as much fun as watching cartoons.

She couldn't share her son with some sorority girl more interested in getting her nails done than paying attention to him. She stopped in her tracks to gaze up at the treehouse. Guilt weighed in her chest like a stone. She'd lost her virginity here. Conceived Tommy here.

Regret strangled her. She hated that she'd loved him. She despised that she still did. She cleared her throat and drew a staggering breath.

Tommy's sweet face appeared in the window. "Hey, Momma. Whatchoo doing?"

"It's time for dinner."

"Come up here. I gots something to show you."

She couldn't count the hours she'd spent inside those walls. For weeks after Wick left, she'd returned here and dreamed of the day he'd call or text or write. But it didn't happen. When three months passed, she realized she'd meant nothing more than a summer fling. A score. Lying awake at night, she thought about how he was probably boasting to all his friends how he'd taken a simple country girls' innocence and how eager she'd been to let him.

One time. The first time. She'd been a fool to have sex without protection. After that, she'd made him use a condom _every_ time, but it was already too late. "No, baby. I don't want to come up."

"Please, Momma."

She took in some air and started her climb. When she reached the top rung, she propped a hip in the opening and focused on the chalkboard mounted on the wall. "That's great, Tommy. You're a good artist."

He pointed to each item as he spoke. "This is a pine tree. This is honeysuckle. I had to use my 'magination cause it's not blooming yet. Clarke says to draw good you have to 'member how stuff looks cause sometimes you can't see it."

Raven smiled. For a first grader, he had real talent. Didn't know where he got it because she couldn't draw more than a stick figure. "It's beautiful. Let me take a picture to show mama and papa." She withdrew her phone and clicked.

Suddenly it all became clear. She couldn't let Wick find out until she knew what kind of girl he was marrying. She had to do whatever it took to keep her secret. Punching the number into her phone, her grandmother answered on the second ring. "Hi, Gramma—I know. It's been a while. That's why I'm calling. I thought Tommy and I might come for a visit. When?—I'm not sure just yet, but soon."

* * *

As Clarke made her way toward home, she stopped to let Crassus sniff a bush. Each time she brought him to the woods, it was like an adventure. He scampered into the underbrush, licked and smelled any leafy thing he could find, and hiked his leg on every trunk to mark his territory.

She wondered if Bellamy considered the dog hers. She already loved the pet and hated to think of leaving him behind. Lately, new emotions flooded her brain. Like her relationship with Bellamy.

She gave the leash a gentle tug to get Crassus back on track. He sat and scratched his ear, then took off in a trot. She needed to check him for fleas. She filed that idea away and went back to earlier.

Because of Raven's disapproving expression, Clarke wished she'd not mentioned wanting to kiss Bellamy. But since the night he'd held her hand during the storm, she'd thought about him all the time. His lips. His chest. His hands. She knew it was stupid, but she couldn't help herself.

He'd never be interested in kissing her. The women he liked were older, prettier, slimmer, and wilder. The most she could hope for would be friendship.

The tone of Raven's warning said a lot. She had history with Bellamy's family. Clarke didn't know if it was all of them or just one. She seemed interested in when they planned to arrive and who all was coming.

Clarke's chest tightened. Malcolm sounded like a man who wasn't satisfied with just one woman. Surely he wasn't Tommy's dad. No, couldn't be. Raven wouldn't be attracted to a man his age. Clarke's heart thudded. It had to be Wick or even Bellamy, though she vehemently denied it.

The house came into view and Clarke saw Bellamy, shirt off, hammer in hand, nailing a board into place on the new porch. She stopped and watched him. His muscles flexed as he drove in the nail. Her heart thundered. What was wrong with her? She didn't just want to kiss him, she wanted to touch him, and to have him touch her, sounded even better.

* * *

For the next few days, Bellamy couldn't stop thinking about Clarke saying he was sexy. The girl confused him. She didn't seem to have a filter. Said what she pleased without belittlement or malice. And obsessed over everything. He'd grown a bit accustomed to her frankness, even sort of appreciated her blatant honesty that never seemed to have a bit of hostility, even though she was certainly entitled to it. He was still taken back at times, especially when she called him sexy, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, like the sky is blue, trees are green, and Bellamy Blake is sexy. He shook his head, a corner of his lip raised slightly in amusement.

The treehouse had been a surprise. Figured it would have been in shambles by now, but someone had kept it up all these years. A few floor boards had been replaced, and the ladder looked new. He guessed kids who lived nearby played there. Fine by him, as long as they didn't damage his property. _His property._ The words sounded strange. Even though he was adding onto the house, most of the time he still considered it Charamel's. Probably always would. He'd be seventy and yelling at kids to get off his lola's lawn. He'd probably do that now.

The last of the workers drove away and Bellamy took a quick shower. Tomorrow he'd be Clarke's plus one. He couldn't help but feel sorry for her. High school was one of the best times of his life. He hated she'd missed hanging out with friends on a Saturday night. Sitting on the back row at the theater. Grabbing a pizza then congregating in the parking lot of the local Safeway. Making out in the backseat of the car.

The thought stopped his nostalgia. He wondered if she'd ever made out with anyone. Even been kissed? Must have. He'd seen the birth control pills in her bathroom. Hell, just because she hadn't attended public school didn't mean she'd not had contact with boys.

He stepped from the shower, leaned on the porch railing, and watched a pair of black-bellied whistlers swim on the pond. It's the first time he'd seen them, but they'd been nesting here for years. He and Octavia spent one summer trying to locate their eggs, but never found them.

He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of the woods. He loved this place more every day. He'd never leave. It was his sanctuary. His saving grace. The one place he felt safe. Baton Rouge had once been his home, but now it might as well be a foreign country. He'd lost everything there. His girl. His best friend. His freedom. His soul.

After dressing, he strolled into his new bedroom and peered outside. He had a clear view of the garden spot. Clarke, hoe in hand, dug holes and dropped a seed potato into each one. Crassus scampered about and Bellamy could tell from Clarke's head movements, she was talking to him.

Funny how she had no trouble yakking with the dog, but talking to Bellamy made her uneasy. However, she was changing on that front. During their dinner question and answer game, he'd learned she had no siblings.

The thought occurred to him that she was nervous about having extra people in the house and planned to stay with someone else. That was probably the reason for the interrogation. She needed to make arrangements in advance.

* * *

Friday morning, Clarke got to work early. As hard as she tried, she couldn't get Raven and Tommy off her mind. The last few days she'd tried to get Bellamy to talk about Wick but didn't get much out of him.

If he was Tommy's father, then why didn't Raven think him worthy enough to tell? Maybe he thought only of himself and did whatever it took to get what he wanted.

She flipped a page in her notebook and studied the instructions for her next client, seventy-four-year-old, Clyde Rickards. Men were so much easier than women. With a little foundation and dusting of powder, they were good to go. Well, it took longer if they needed a haircut which Clyde didn't because he'd been a member of a local country western band and wore his in a ponytail.

She removed the protective cape, tightened the knot on his tie, then smoothed his shirt and jacket. After checking him off the list, she studied her word of the day. Alacrity meaning eager, willingness or readiness. She'd been judging Wick with alacrity which wasn't fair. She'd not even met him.

At two o'clock, she sat in the break room eating a peanut butter sandwich and enjoying the solitude. The area was small with only one table, four chairs, fridge, and a couple of vending machines. One for snacks and the other for drinks. Since she was just about the only person who used it, she wished she could redecorate. A pretty rug would improve the commercial tan tile and the place could be cheerful if she gave the white walls a splash of color. Original artwork wouldn't hurt either.

Her musings shattered when Myles' voice echoed down the hallway. He was headed her way. She hoped he wasn't making a last ditch effort to escort her to the banquet. At least she had a legitimate excuse.

The door flew open. He stepped inside, and gave her the eye. "Hey, how's it going?"

"Fine."

"You coming tonight?"

Her stomach clenched. "Yeah."

"Good. I'll save you a seat."

Before she could answer, Mrs. Walters, the secretary peeked inside and pushed a white box tied with a ribbon toward Clarke. "Handy I found you here because I think this will need to be kept in the refrigerator."

Clarke took it and stared at the imprint. _Arkadia Blossoms_. The local shop delivered funeral arrangements all the time, but to see a tag with her name on it surprised her. She unpinned the envelope from the bow and read the card. _Looking forward to tonight. Plus One._

A rush of adrenaline pushed a knot into her throat. She tugged the satin. Inside she found a wrist corsage of white orchids surrounded by baby's breath tied with ribbon. She wanted to cry. Dad had given her a bouquet at her art show. She'd picked flowers with Keenan and then Charamel, but she'd never gotten a corsage. Much less, one from a man. A man like Bellamy.

"Looks like I won't need to save you a seat."

She'd forgotten Myles was in the room. "Uh? Oh, yeah. I'm bringing someone."

"I didn't think you dated."

She didn't like his tone or the sneer. "He isn't a date. Just a friend. A plus one."

"I'm bringing a basketball buddy. Figured I needed another guy to help me turn a boring banquet into a party."

Clarke wasn't sure what he meant. Were they going to shoot hoops? She didn't have to wait long for him to explain.

"Yeah, I've already bought the vodka. You can drink it and no one knows because it doesn't smell."

"You shouldn't do that. If your dad finds out, you'll get in trouble."

"Yeah, well, I already stay in trouble with my old man. He keeps harping about me taking over the business one day. Like dealing with dead people for the rest of my life is what I want to do." He scooted a chair from the table and dropped into it.

Clarke didn't remember inviting him to join her. She wanted to be left alone to fantasize about Bellamy because the moment she'd seen the corsage, her imagination had run rampant. She moved on from wanting to kiss him to doing more serious things. He must like her, or he wouldn't have done something this nice. She smiled, then her euphoria crashed like a Jumbo Jet. He felt sorry for her!

She was an idiot to think for even a moment she meant more to him than some silly kid. Still, whatever the reason, it was a nice gesture, and she should thank him. No reason to be mad. She shouldn't jump to conclusions with so much alacrity.

* * *

Bellamy didn't know if the corsage pleased Clarke or not. Her personality gave nothing away. She'd thanked him for it but he'd expected more of a reaction. She'd been acting weird since she got home, quickly disappearing into the woods and taking Crassus with her. He figured she'd gone to the treehouse to sketch.

Just as well. Without interruptions he finished the back deck, except for staining. The bathroom was complete and laying carpet was the only thing left to do in the master suite.

By the time he came from shower, he heard the water come on in her bathroom. He went to the closet and found his new clothes, pressed and on hangers. Didn't know when she'd ironed, but the proof was before him.

His stomach churned. Why the hell was he nervous? Easy answer. This would be the first social event he attended since getting out of prison. He'd logged plenty of hours in bars but those didn't count.

He laid his tie and the necklace he'd taken from Charamel's jewelry box on the counter, then strolled outside for some air.

He'd spent nights in his cell dreaming of what he'd do here, and now those dreams had come to fruition. He needed bedding. Maybe he'd take Clarke into Breaux Bridge to help him choose something. Who was he kidding? She avoided mingling with people and if tonight's function wasn't required, she wouldn't be attending it.

Damn, he wanted a cigarette, but it'd been eight days without nicotine and it was finally getting easier. At least he wasn't waking in the middle of the night craving one.

"Are you ready?"

Her voice shook the Marlboro urge away. He faced her and lost his breath. Who was this person? She looked like a runway model. Big eyes and long legs. It was hard to imagine this woman in front of him was the same girl he'd been living with. "Damn. You look great."

"Thanks. You look nice, too."

He reached for the necklace and dangled it in the air. "I remembered Charamel has this and it'll look nice with your dress. Turn around and I'll fasten it."

Clarke stared at the pendant, then at him. "You don't have to feel sorry for me."

He lowered his hands. "What are you talking about?"

"Agreeing to be my plus one. The corsage. The necklace. You're trying to make up for the prom I never had, and I don't need you to."

She'd misunderstood everything. Hell, how could he feel sympathy for her when she had a shit load of cash hidden in her room? "That has nothing to do with this. You work hard. Cleaning, cooking, laundry. I just wanted to do something nice for you. But excuse me for trying to show some appreciation." He dropped the necklace back onto the countertop, grabbed his tie, and looped it around his collar. After two attempts at tying it, he jerked it off and tossed it onto the back of the chair. Her presence was frustrating the hell out of him, in a big way.

She picked it up and stepped closer. Maybe he wasn't trying to pity her at all; Bellamy didn't really seem the type. Maybe he was just being nice. "I'm sorry. I'm just not used to… this. People being nice for no reason other than being nice." People only ever pitied her, for being odd, or because of her dad. She worried her lip as she shoved his hands away. "I can help you with this. I used to tie my dad's all the time." She explained as she worked. "This is called a four-in-hand-knot. You cross both strips, wrap it twice, bring it up, then back through the bottom loop."

She was so close, her warm breath floated over his neck, and his heart kicked up a notch. When she was done, she slid the knot tight against his collar, then rested both palms on his chest. "The corsage is pretty, and I'd like to wear the necklace." She didn't wait for him to do it, she slid it from the counter into her hand and held it out. "It was Charamel's favorite. I know she'd like for me to wear it."

He took it and she turned for him to fasten it.

"Pops gave this to her on their twentieth wedding anniversary. Had it made special," Bellamy said.

She pressed her hand over the pendant. "I know."

Bellamy leaned close to her ear. "I'm sorry I snapped at you." God, she smelled good. Honey and vanilla from her bubble bath. "Turn around." She did, and he pretended to eye the necklace, but wanted a closer look at her. Those big blue eyes. High cheekbones. Flawless skin. Kissable lips, with a tiny mole above her lip that always drew his attention to her mouth. At that moment, he stopped thinking of her as a kid, and just like that, he got hard. "Looks great. You ready to go?"

"Yes."

Two hours later, he fidgeted in his chair waiting for Clarke to return from the ladies' room. The banquet had been nice. Delicious steak and a decadent dessert called Molten Chocolate Cake with Cherry sauce. As usual, Clarke picked at hers, but Bellamy had devoured everything put before him. He had to wonder if she ate anything other than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

He glanced at his watch. She'd been gone too long. He rose and headed toward the exit. As he came to the end of the hallway, he heard voices. Clarke was talking to someone.

"Damn, Clarke. How old is your boyfriend?"

"He isn't my boyfriend."

"Well, then he won't mind if you give me one little kiss."

"Stop, Myles. You're drunk."

"No I'm not. I've wanted to kiss you for a long time. That and a few more things."

"Don't touch me or I'll tell your dad."

"You think he'll believe you over me? Come on, just one little kiss. One little feel."

"Stop it!"

"Get your fucking hands off her." Bellamy grabbed the kid, slung him into the wall, and held him in place by his wrists. Then moved his face in close. "Don't you ever touch her again. If I find out you've so much as looked at her wrong, I'll rip your heart out and shove it down your throat. You _feel_ me?"

He squeaked out his answer. "Yeah."

Bellamy didn't move. Rage coursed through his veins. He hated men who abused women because they were physically weaker. If this kid was already doing it, his path was set.

"Bellamy!"

He snapped from his daze. He had the boy by his throat. He let go and stepped back, then looked at Clarke with wild eyes, as if he realized the extent of his anger. "Get your purse and say your goodbyes. We're leaving," he told her, gently, but the command was there. He wouldn't meet her eyes, hanging his head as if he was ashamed.

Myles slumped to the floor, gasping for breath.

Bellamy didn't wait for her return, he headed outside. Once there, he paced trying to get his emotions back in order. He could have killed the kid and might have had Clarke not been there. The thought terrified him. Damn, he wished he had a shot of whiskey.

Fifteen minutes later, they rode in silence. He wanted to say something, but didn't know what. This was the second time she'd seen his dark side. He wondered how many more it'd take before she ran like hell to get away.

He figured she was upset or scared or disgusted. He wished she could tell him, but she was so introverted and awkward, he knew that wouldn't happen.

He glanced over at her, but she stared straight ahead. Then she drew a deep breath. He braced.

"My name is Lark."

The weight pressing down on his chest, lightened. "Like the bird?"

"Yes. But you can't tell anyone. And I want to still be Clarke."

He reached for her hand and held it. "I won't." She squeezed his hand in response, thankful.

She wasn't angry, frightened, or repulsed because she shared one of her deepest secrets. She was thankful he'd helped her with that creep. And so was Bellamy.

* * *

Can you just imagine Bellamy sitting on the porch yelling at kids to get off his lawn.

And we've finally found out who Tommy's father is. I know some of you were probably apprehensive and thinking it was Bell's.

Thanks to everyone who left comments. I always love reading them.


	9. Chapter 9

Bellamy didn't sleep for all the thoughts flooding his brain. When she'd helped with his tie, the way her small hands moved and how they'd felt on his chest made his heart race and his cock jump.

He'd been overcome with rage when he'd seen the boy touching her. But the fear in her eyes had been just as powerful. Bellamy had gone overboard, but that skinny bastard had no right to her.

Then calm overtook him when she'd told him her real name. "Lark," he whispered it aloud. He loved the way it felt on his lips, but he was partial to Clarke. He was lusting for her and it had to stop.

He didn't know how long he'd been lying there, one emotion after the other washing over him, but now sunlight beat against the sheets he had tacked over his windows. Today, he should go to Breaux Bridge and get blinds.

Last night, he'd dragged the mattress off his old bed into the new room and that might have played a part in his sleepless night. It was still a hell of a lot more comfortable than the prison bunk he'd slept on for six years.

He'd told himself it was to enjoy the new master suite but honestly, it put him closer to her room. She was a contradiction. Stubborn and strong to a fault, but vulnerable at the same time. He wanted to protect her, not only from the smart mouth co-worker, but everything.

He lifted his laptop from the floor and rested it on his thighs. Now he knew enough to find something online about her. In the search bar he typed, fatal car accidents Baton Rouge, 2001.

He clicked third one on the list. State of Louisiana archives, then scrolled to the right place. One hundred thirty-six fatalities. Next, he searched for a victim matching descriptors she'd unknowingly provided him. Within minutes, he'd found what he was looking for. Abigail Griffin. Survived by husband, Jake and daughter Lark.

He opened another tab and entered Lark's name. The first entry got his attention. Heir to Griffin Steel Goes Missing. Holy Shit. After reading the article twice, he clicked on the connecting website to post sightings. Hundreds listed, the last posted three weeks ago from New York City.

He wondered how many were bogus. Probably most since there was a twenty-five thousand dollar reward offered for information leading to her whereabouts. He closed the site and his laptop. At least the cash was legit. She was worth millions.

But why was she hiding? A question he wanted answered, and he'd get it out of her. Someone had to have helped her leave; she couldn't have done it on her own. But how, and why?

Thirty minutes later, dressed for the day, he strolled into the kitchen. Fresh blueberry muffins sat on a platter, and in front of the coffeemaker, a note instructing him to turn it on. While the coffee brewed, he looked out at the garden where again she walked the length of a row poking holes in the soil with the hoe handle. He smiled. She'd learned the technique from Charamel just as he had when he was a boy.

Crassus played nearby, jumping into the air trying to catch a butterfly. He couldn't hear what Clarke was saying, but he could tell she was talking to the dog.

Damn, heiress to the biggest steel company in the United States planting a garden. Craziest thing he'd ever heard of. She should be in a spa getting a head-to-toe treatment. Shopping at Neiman's. Jet setting all over the world. Spoiling herself from morning to night. But not her. She wasn't the type. An heiress like her would've hid somewhere far away, like Croatia or Prague, or even New York. Clarke was content in a backwater town living in his grandmother's house, hanging out with him and Raven, gardening and talking to a dog.

He filled his cup, took a muffin and walked outside. He was next to her before she noticed. "Morning, Clarke."

She looked up and shaded her eyes. "What did you call me?"

"Clarke."

"Why?" He usually referred to her as kid.

"That's your name now, isn't it?"

She smiled, and something caught in his throat. Clarke's smile was always tight, as if it was forced, the kind of smile one would sit through for holiday photos until their mouth hurt from the effort. This one was loose, genuine, real and happy. He wanted to see more of that particular smile.

He cleared his throat, embarrassed by his thoughts. He wasn't the type to pay attention to the authenticity of people's smiles, but he liked Clarke's. Maybe a bit too much. "You want to go into Breaux Bridge with me today? I thought I'd buy furniture for my bedroom. I plan to call my sister and Wick later and ask them to come next weekend for the Festival."

* * *

Clarke didn't like going into town, but if not, he might bring a woman home, and she didn't want that to happen. He'd been without one for over two weeks, and she needed to do everything possible to keep the streak going.

Even with his assault on Myles, she appreciated him defending her. But the rage she'd seen in Bellamy's eyes, frightened her. Not that he'd ever hurt her. There was a kindness about him she saw every day. From how he treated her to the way he played with Crassus.

In the short time he'd been here, he'd changed for the better. It was as if the farm had worked magic and brought him back to life. She was pretty sure she loved him. Couldn't be certain because she'd never been in love before. But she wanted to be with him more than anybody else. She thought about him all day. Counted the minutes until she saw him. Spent hours sketching his face, hands, body, tattoos. Fantasized about having sex with him.

Her face heated. She should stop torturing herself. Picking up the pink tee shirt, she pulled it over her head. Instead of the oversized shirts she usually wore, this one was small and fit just right.

Later, she'd need to tell Raven about Wick and Octavia's visit. The Arkadia Festival was a terrible time. Raven always had a booth during the event to sell her goat products and that would make it impossible to avoid them.

Startled by the sound of her phone, Clarke stared at caller ID. Not Raven or Harper. Not the funeral home. Must be a wrong number, but she answered anyway. "Hello."

"Lark, it's Aunt Becca."

Her heart hammered. Becca Pramheda was her deceased aunt's wife, since remarried, but she'd always called her aunt. She was the closest things she had to blood relatives along with Keenan. And they were the people her dad had trusted most. During the past three years, Clarke contacted them from time to time just so they'd know she was alright, but she never revealed her location. The less they knew, the better.

"Lark? Are you there? Don't worry. I'm using a burner phone so no one can trace the call."

"I'm here. What's wrong?"

"No emergency. Just wanted you to know Diana has hired a new detective. A guy named Wells Jaha, and he seems determined to solve the case and not just take her money like the others. I know you're being careful but I wanted to warn you because he's working the leads hard."

"Okay."

"Are you doing all right?"

"I'm fine."

"Think about coming home. I can protect you. Move in with me. I'll fix it where Diana can't touch you."

"No. I have friends. A job. I have a dog. I even have a roommate."

"You do? Oh my God. You haven't told them who you are, have you? Sweetie, there's still a reward in place and if he or she is not a good person…"

She cut him off. "He is, but I haven't told him anything."

"Good. Don't. You know how people pretend to be one thing when they're another. We learned that about Diana. Just remember, people take advantage of rich people the same as poor."

"No one knows I'm rich, but it wouldn't matter to him."

"Give me his name. Let me at least run a background check."

"No."

That's all she needed was for Becca to find out Bellamy had been in prison. Once she did, she'd insist she return to Baton Rouge, and she wasn't ready.

From down the hall, Bellamy called out to her, then appeared in the doorway. "You ready to go? Oh, sorry, I didn't know you were on the phone." He turned and walked away.

"Sorry, Aunt Becca, I have to go. Don't worry. I'm okay. I promise."

"I am worried…"

"Bye." She clicked off.

* * *

By noon, Bellamy had all the furniture he needed. A king size four-poster bed, two side tables, a chest-of-drawers, and an oversized chair with matching ottoman. Shopping for home furnishing with him only fueled Clarke's fantasy. She kept telling herself how ridiculous she was for thinking about something that would never happen, but still stared at him like a star-struck groupie.

She reminded herself of Dad's lecture about how infatuation dismisses flaws and exaggerates virtues. He'd say this was only a crush. Not true. She was aware of Bellamy's faults. Even been on the receiving end, and she still wanted him.

Maybe it was the good-girl-bad-boy syndrome. Nice girls attracted to the wrong guy. But he wasn't a bad guy. A little rough around the edges, but those had smoothed out since she'd met him.

"Earth to Clarke."

"What?"

"We're here. At Walmart. You've been distracted all morning. Anything wrong?"

Other than me thinking about you naked? "No, I'm okay."

"I thought maybe the call you got earlier upset you."

"No." She could tell he was waiting for her to say more, but he'd made it clear from the beginning he didn't want trouble.

He reached for her hand and held it. "You can tell me anything. If you have a problem, I'll help you with it."

She took a shallow breath and pulled her hand away. His touch made things happen. Tingle. Clench. "I know." How was she supposed to get over this crush while picking out beds and sheets? She should have stayed home…and done what? Sketched more pictures of his anatomy?

She faced the window to watch the people in the parking lot. An overweight young woman wearing a denim skirt, tube top and knee boots. One of the hairiest old men she'd ever seen in overalls and no shirt. A pencil thin girl in a swimsuit. At least it was one piece. Turned out, Walmart customers were just what Clarke needed to kill her desire.

* * *

Where were the tube tops and hairy men when Clarke needed them? After the shopping trip in Breaux Bridge, Bellamy had driven through a drive-thru and taken her to a different park from where she'd seen Myles.

This time Bellamy coaxed her out of the truck to sit at a nearby table. Across the lawn, young couples sat on quilts, mothers swung their children, and dad's tossed Frisbees with their kids. Clarke didn't fit into any of those categories. She guessed she and Bellamy were a couple, but of what? Friends? Acquaintances? Roommates? Everything she did with him was new, so she didn't know how to categorize it. She liked to think of this outing as a picnic, but figured to him it was just finding a place to eat drive-thru chicken.

She'd wanted to believe the banquet had been a date, but he was just a plus one. She fantasized about the corsage because getting flowers from a man meant something, but he considered it a gesture of appreciation for the housework she did.

He was the first man to pay any attention to her and she'd put too much emphasis on his kindness. Just because he was nice didn't mean he had any romantic feelings toward her. But when she'd helped with his tie, there'd been something in his eyes. Longing. If there was one thing she understood, it was yearning. For her mother. Her dad. Charamel. How would she know her true feelings for Bellamy if she didn't try to find out?

"Clarke?"

"Huh? Oh, I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"Your mind has been somewhere else all day. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

He eyed her but didn't press the subject which made her want to answer, but she didn't. She trusted him, but if he found out who she was, he might force her to leave, and she wasn't ready for that.

"If you say so. Anyway, I texted Octavia and Wick and they're coming for the festival. Are you going to be okay with them in the house? They can sleep in my room and I'll stay in Charamel's until they leave. You won't have to cook for us. We'll either eat in town or I'll grill."

"Okay."

He reached for her hand and held it. She hated and loved when he did that. Her stomach would do flip flops and it gave her the impression she was at the top of a roller coaster, ready to plummet at any given moment.

"What's wrong? And don't say nothing, because I can tell something is going on in that head of yours."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, then pointed to a sunny section of the park. "Those people over there are practicing heliolatry because of the lack of trees."

"Word of the day? That's had you preoccupied?"

"Yes. It means sun worship." Not exactly a lie. She needed to use it, but she couldn't tell him what was really on her mind. Him. Twenty-four-seven. And the bad part was she didn't know what to do about it.

The look he gave her was unconvinced, but he didn't say anything.

* * *

Bellamy tossed and turned, loving the softness of the new sheets against his skin. Clarke had been right about the selection and insisted on washing and drying them before use. She was a stickler for following manufacturer's instructions. Hell, she was a stickler for a lot of things. After years of having to follow rules, that should bother him, but it didn't.

She was the most genuine person he'd ever met. Well, her life was full of secrets, but he figured out of necessity for survival. That had to be it. But if he could get her to confide in him, he could help her. She knew how intimidating he could be, and if someone was threatening her, he'd make short work of them. So why wouldn't she ask for his help?

From what little he knew, he was the only person capable of helping her. Her parents were dead. Charamel was gone. But knowing his grandmother, she would have fought to her last breath to defend those she loved, and she must have loved Clarke to have taken her in.

He'd prepared telling his sister and step brother about meeting his strange housemate. It would be difficult for her to have them here and the last thing he wanted was for her to freak out. So he'd warned them about keeping the pantry in alphabetical order. Not to ask her to make a sandwich unless they could wait an hour while she got everything lined up and leveled. Octavia had gotten a big laugh out of the picture he'd sent of the hazmat getup, and claimed they'd be fast friends.

He'd also cautioned them about her lack of understanding sarcasm and no filters. Her obsession with making lists and keeping the counter cleared of clutter. Dirty clothes needed to go in the hamper. Shoes in the closet. Wet towels in the laundry room. By the time he finished with all of her quirks, they each had the same question. Why did Bellamy let her stay?

When he'd first arrived, he'd asked himself that plenty of times. Truth was, she intrigued him and damn if he didn't like her. She'd aroused him more than once and that was a problem. After seeing her in that dress, he'd been thinking about her in ways he shouldn't.

He flopped onto his back and stared into the darkness. A line of moonlight escaped from between the blinds and marked the ceiling like a carpenter's level. It'd been a week since the banquet and he was still losing sleep over her.

* * *

Clarke nudged Crassus over and threw her covers off. Across the hall, she heard Bellamy thrashing around on his new sheets. They couldn't be uncomfortable because she'd insisted on leaving Walmart and going to the nicest store in Breaux Bridge to buy Egyptian cotton 1800 thread count. He'd winched at the price but she assured him he'd not regret it.

Maybe she should ask if he did. Or better yet, slide in next to him and decide for herself. Stupid. She already knew how great they were. She'd been sleeping on them all of her life. What she wanted was to see how it felt to be next to him on the silky, luxurious fabric. Naked. Skin to skin. His strong arms around her. His lips on hers. God, she wondered how it would feel to be kissed until she was breathless. To have him on top of her. Inside of her. Heat pooled low in her belly, and she rubbed her thighs together, desperate for friction.

She pressed her hand to her throat and drew a ragged breath. Clarke briefly debated going to his room and telling him what she wanted. How would he react to that, though? After a few moments of silent back and forth yeses and no's, she decided there was really only one way to find out. She scooted to the edge of the bed, then tiptoed across the hall. When she stepped into his room, he pushed up on his elbows.

"What's wrong?"

She braced against the doorjamb to steady herself and took another deep breath, looking directly at him. "I want to have to sex."

"What?" His eyes widened. He didn't say anything for a few seconds, then raked a hand through his hair. "Not a good idea."

"Okay." She turned, went back to her room, and crawled into bed. Now she was certain and could stop the fantasies. He wasn't interested in her romantically. A pang of regret twisted her stomach. Dad would have been right. She'd read too much into Bellamy's kindness.


	10. Chapter 10

**WARNING: SEXUAL THEMES AHEAD. Skip the next two dividers if you aren't interested in mature themes.**

* * *

Bellamy came to his feet, then sat on the bed. What the hell? Sex? He'd considered it for a Nano second, but decided against it. Why? Wasn't like he hadn't been toying with the same idea. Even in the last hour he'd wrestled with the notion, so why didn't he invite her in and get to it? She had left in no particular hurry, a bit resigned, but otherwise seemingly unaffected by his rejection. Sometimes he thought he was the only one in Arkadia who understood her, and the other half of the time he had no fucking clue what was going through her head. Fuck.

Okay, she was horny. And so was he. Shit. He had to give her credit. It was the most straightforward seduction he'd had. He ran his hand over his face. What was wrong with him? When had he ever refused to get laid? She was an adult. He was a grown ass man. He had never had any qualms about sleeping with other people, but this was Clarke. It would be different with her; she wasn't like the other girls he brought home from the bar, or anyone for that matter. It wouldn't be meaningless with her, and he wasn't going to fuck that up.

He shouldn't. It'd be wrong. God, her parents would spin in their graves if their little princess screwed a guy like him. She was upper crust, he, a convicted felon. Didn't matter he'd been cleared. Ex-con would always be part of his title because he'd done the time. To hell with it.

He stood and grabbed a pair of boxers from his chest of drawers. Might not be a good idea to go to her room buck naked. Besides, she might have changed her mind. Within three seconds he was at her bedside.

Curled up and facing the wall, she turned upon hearing his approach and looked up at him. "What?"

"Why do you want to have sex with me?" He scrubbed his palm over his face, exasperated and incredulous that this girl - Clarke - would actually want him.

"Because those women you've brought home sounded like you're good at it."

He sat on the edge of the bed. "I wasn't being serious about what I said when I first got here. You don't have to sleep with me to live here. I'm not going to take advantage of you." He murmured, willing her to understand. The fact that may be the case horrified him. He thought back to the night he was worried she'd call the police on him after his violent nightmare and cringed. They were past that, he hoped. She hadn't held that against him. But he needed to know, to make sure she knew, that he didn't expect anything from her.

She frowned, and he found it fucking endearing. "I don't think that at all."

"That's not a good answer at all, Clarke. Sex involves…" he scrubbed an exasperated hand over his face, "… I don't know, feelings and shit. It should involve someone you actually like."

"I like you." She said it so matter-of-fact that it really shouldn't have surprised him – that was how she was, but it did. Ruffling the covers, she moved to sit on the edge of the bed next to him.

He stood up and paced the room. "That's… I don't date, Clarke. Those women that I bring home, they're hot, there's no strings attached. I don't… I'm not looking for that. Feelings." He stopped where he was, gauging her reaction as she sat on the edge of the bed, wringing her hands together, head turned away. He pulled up, kneeling on the floor between her legs, palms on her knees, urging her to look at him. When she kept her gaze resolutely on the lamp on the night stand, he gently palmed her jaw, angling her face toward him. He felt like he was going about this all wrong, always doomed to saying the wrong thing. "You're beautiful, Clarke. You deserve more than this. Me. I can't offer you anything." In more ways than one, he added silently. "You deserve the feelings. I'm not…" Good for you. "I'm not good at that."

He looked so earnest, as if he really believed the things he said. He did, she knew, or he wouldn't have said them. It was unfathomable for her to think that he didn't realize his own worth, or how she saw him. How he was so much more than he realized. He was good, how couldn't he see that? He let her stay, even when he didn't particularly like her at the time. He was protective over the people he cared about. Even if she hadn't met Octavia, she knew that his sister was the most important thing in the world to him, even above himself. "You really don't see yourself, do you?" she hadn't meant to say it aloud, hadn't even known what to say to him, where to begin. "Even if you don't believe it, you're good. You always take care of other people, your sister, Wick, even me. That's who you are."

He stared at her, expressionless, and she wondered if she had said too much. He opened his mouth as if to argue, but closed it again. Unabashed, she slid her fingers into his hair, and he leaned into the touch as she gripped the curls at the nape of his neck.

His hand leaves her knee, takes residence on her chin, slides to cup her cheek, his thumb gently stroking the skin. She reciprocates, leans into his touch, her eyes falling shut on its own accord.

He leaned down to kiss her, but she draws back.

"I thought you said it was a bad idea."

"It is."

He leaned low again and she placed her hand on his chest. "Would you brush your teeth first?"

He grinned. "Sure. Be right back."

He chuckled on the way to his bathroom. Any other time if someone had asked him to do that, it would have him befuddled, but not Clarke. That was typical. When he got back to her room, she'd turned the cover back for him to crawl in next to her. Her hair spilled out behind her, all golden curls on her pillow, but in the moonlight shining through the window behind her, she looked like some ethereal silver haired goddess in the shadows from the mythology books he'd read to Octavia as a kid. He could feel a smile tug at the corner of his lips as he turned to face her, tucking a errant curl behind her ear, caressing the soft skin of her jaw with his thumb.

"I used mouthwash, too."

"Thank you."

She could feel the heat resonating from his body - he was so close; she swallowed a lump that formed in her throat. His eyes blazed with an intensity - of what, she didn't know. His hands ran the length of her arms to her shoulders, sending shivers down her spine. Mutely, he brought his hands beneath her jaw and pulled her forward and kissed her intensely. She didn't have much experience because she kept her lips tight. He forced them apart with his tongue and she made a little sound. He deepened the kiss and then pulled back. "This okay?"

They gazed at each other, jaws trembling slightly. His eyes sparkled in a million different emotions that churned and combined into something both dazed and charged. He continued to stare at her so intently that she felt he could see her soul. And in fact, he probably could.

She stared at him for a few seconds before she launched herself in for another kiss. Their mouths crashed into each other, teeth clacking loudly in the quiet. Not an inch of space was between them. Still, his arms snaked behind her lower back, pulling her tighter against him. She gripped his shoulders, in an attempt to ground herself, as if she'd float away without the pillar of him around her. Clarke moaned against his mouth and her fingers yanked at his hair, pulling him closer.

He slowed, easing her back into gentle, small kisses, forcing her to relax the hurricane in her head. Taking his time, as if he had all the time in the world to kiss her.

He broke the kiss to trail his lips across her cheek, before running his tongue along the shell of her ear; he bit the lobe gently and Clarke instinctively ground her hips against him with a moan of pleasure. He nibbled his way down the side of her neck, pausing to trace his tongue across her fluttering pulse point. She pulled him closer to her still, but it didn't feel close enough.

She pulled away to breathe. She could feel the sweet sensations swirling within her, her breathing still heavy and labored - her heart beating at a vastly increasing pace. The nerves returned full force and her cheeks heated beneath his gaze.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked finally, his voice deep and husky, and his lips were red and swollen, his eyes a bit glazed.

"No," she said, her own voice sounding different to her ears, hoarse and a bit breathy. Bellamy knew he should stop here, but he wanted more, and looking at Clarke now - pink lips swollen, eyes dilated with hunger, he didn't think he'd have it in him to stop unless she asked him too.

He smiled this time, the type of smile that reached the eyes. Keenan would've called it hundred-watt, she thought, as he pressed his chapped lips to hers again, carding his hands through her hair, his short nails lightly scraping against her scalp. His lips dipped and pressed against her jaw, collarbone, sternum. "Still sure?" his breath fanned against her chest.

She nodded. "Yes."

"Let's go to my room and break in those sheets."

"Okay."

He scooped her into his arms and carried her while she planted quick kisses on his face like she was playing a game of connect the dots with her lips. Damn, she was eager. He liked that. Back in his room, he put her down, then lifted the nightshirt over her head. He thought she might ask to keep it on, but then remembered the first time he saw her. She'd not been modest.

He let the garment drop to the floor happy she didn't ask to stop and fold it. Then he sat on the bed and pulled her to stand between his legs. "Jesus. You're beautiful," he marveled, and his voice was low and rich and the sound fired off into her nerve endings as she clutched his hair, scratching at his scalp.

He ran his hands up her spine, her skin softer than anything he'd ever experienced, his hands moved back to her neck, bringing her head down kissing her again. The strong rush of desire surprised him. He'd not expected to be so turned on by her, not just physically, but emotionally. He didn't know what to do with that realization. He cared about her, even felt protective of her, but in a different way than he felt protective of Octavia, or anyone else in his life. She was nothing like anyone he ever met.

* * *

When Bellamy appeared in her room, her mouth went dry. With moonlight falling across his body, he looked like a god. A chiseled, tatted, divinity with a hard on. Her breath caught in the back of her throat. She'd aroused him. Imagine that. Weird, awkward, Clarke Griffin, had excited a burly guy like Bellamy.

When he kissed her, her lips had stuck to her teeth, but he'd taken care of the problem. God, she loved having his tongue in her mouth. And it was so minty her taste buds tingled.

She never understood the simple act of kissing; even with Lexa it seemed a bit redundant and sloppy, like mudpies in a sandbox. Maybe it was Bellamy, because now she realized what she'd been missing and she wasn't sure much could top that, just the simple act of kissing Bellamy Blake. It opened up an entirely new ballpark of aches and tingles that made her toes curl.

She'd been surprised when he asked if she wanted to stop. That never happened in Keenan's Harlequin and Mills, and she was sure Bellamy never had to ask that question to the women who came home from the bar with him.

Her heart beat a marathon when he picked her up, locking his hands around her thighs to straddle him as he moved through the hallway into his room. When his calloused fingers slid up her stomach, dragging her night shirt over her head, she didn't feel the need to cover herself, shy away from him. If she'd been more coherent, she might've protested to tossing her shirt on the floor - it'd be so wrinkly and dusty later, but sound thought seemed far away. He dropped her on the bed, pushing her back into the mattress, propping his weight on his forearms as he hovered above her.

She gasped as he trailed his kisses down her throat, then his hot breath hit her breast and when he closed his lips around her nipple, desire rushed through her veins. He moved from one hard tip to the other, licking, teasing, sucking until she thought she'd come apart.

"I want to touch you." Her voice sounded husky and wrecked to her own ears, and it wasn't far from the truth. Her heart beat so loudly that it felt like cannon-fire going off in her head and beneath her skin. He was so close she could map out constellations in his freckles. She hadn't expected that, a certain level of closeness.

He whispered a laugh. "God, I hope so." He took her hand, guided it inside his boxers.

Holy crap. She'd never touched a man before. Bellamy was hard. And big. Her heart hammered even louder. Now that she was holding it, what was she supposed to do? She didn't have to wait long for the answer, he moved against her slow and steady, reaching out to guide her hand along his length.

"Damn, Clarke. That feels so fucking good."

Her brows furrowed as she concentrated on the action, pleased that his voice sounded wild and a bit strangled, like she was able to make him feel as good as she felt, that she had the power to make him come undone.

That's what she wanted. Him inside her. All of him. She couldn't wait to find out how it felt.

He gently tugged her hand away. "Later. Later," he said huskily, pupils blown. He wasn't going to last that long at all if she kept touching him like that. He leaned down and kissed her again. One wasn't enough. And when he tried to pull away, she raised up to follow his lips. She didn't want him to stop. Ever. Bellamy cradled her face and slowed the pace of their kiss when their teeth clacked. "I want to look at you," he told her, pushing her back into the mattress as he rose on his knees to hover over her. His eyes darkened as he gazed down on her. "Fucking beautiful," he told her softly, as his calloused fingers brushed the wisps of hair stuck to her face before his mouth was back on her, sucking at a spot on her collarbone, marking her with his teeth before laving it over with his tongue.

"You want my mouth on you?"

"Yes," she panted, her fingers twisting and pulling at the hair at the nape of his neck.

He chuckled. A low, deep tone that got her hotter. He obliged, and raked his fingers up the inside of her leg. She shivered as he caressed her thigh. His fingers were gentle, the heat from his hands giving her goosebumps as they slowly circled up her legs. Then his touch became more intimate, brushing the soft mound at the juncture of her thighs as he slipped a finger inside her. A new ache settled between her legs and grew stronger as he dipped and then withdrew.

"You're so fucking wet." Kneeling before her, he pulled down her underwear until they met her ankles. He nuzzled her stomach, kissing down, and it felt like kismet, him worshiping at the shrine of Clarke Griffin. Clarke gasped and clutched at him, pulling at his hair as his lips met her mons, nipping gently at her before plunging his tongue into her. He thrust two fingers into her wet heat as he continued his ministrations on her wetness until he found that spongy path inside her, angling his fingers to speed her along. Her breath came in little pants, synchronizing with the speed of his tongue fucking into her as she writhed, panting small incoherent sounds and grasping at his hair. His thumb found her clit and rolled; Clarke arched off the bed with a strangled cry as his forearm gently pushed her back against the mattress, his fingers thrusting inside her with slow drags, angling and reaching. She fell back on the bed with a keening moan.

"C'mon baby," he murmured against her, and the gravel of his voice vibrated against her, making her toes curl. She couldn't even think, her mind blanked with the twisting pressure building inside her. "Come for me."

Pleasure swelled and exploded, centered directly where his mouth was fused to her clit, sending starlight across her vision and her body hummed. The liquid warmth that had been slowly building in her center, spread itself to her limbs in a single burst. She flushed against him instinctively, her body flowing against his, her soft curves melting into the hardness of his muscles. She trembled weakly, unable to control the feelings flowing through her, washing over her. She was caught in a giant tidal wave of emotion and desire, something she had never encountered or had to deal with before.

His mouth kept working her until she cried out, pushing him away, too sensitive now.

Bellamy slid up next to her, looming over her, grinning smugly, like a cat who caught the canary as she tried to even her breathing. That was… suddenly Clarke couldn't even remember any of her words-of-the-day. Maybe there wasn't even a word for it. He surged back on his knees suddenly, eyes glazed, and scooted to search through his bedside table.

Clarke propped herself on her elbows, a bit dazed. "What are you doing?"

After a moment of searching, he held up a packet. Oh.

She watched him roll it on with hooded eyes and shivered when Bellamy's fingers slid up her arm, her collarbone, cupping her jaw with one hand as he pressed a series of light kisses to her mouth, nose, eyelids, forehead. His free hand trailed down her side, gripping her hip, pulling her even closer as if he was trying to meld them into one.

He maneuvered his way to her entrance, coating himself in her arousal and her eyes squeezed shut. "Look at me." Clarke's eyes snapped open and fixed her gaze on him propped on his elbows above her, his dark eyes gleaming with emotion, something she couldn't readily understand. He slid in slowly, being far gentler than she had anticipated. He took his time, moving his hips into her so slowly until her muscles burned and stretched to accommodate.

"Fuck," he groaned as he hit her barrier, stiffening over her. He knew she hadn't had much experience, but he hadn't anticipated this. Her fingers tightened on his shoulder and he had to stop himself from uttering a slew of obscenities, mostly at himself. "Tell me what's wrong."

"It burns. Give me a second."

"Jesus, Clarke, I didn't – fuck." He cursed and tried to pull out, but she clenched his hips with both hands and tightened her thighs around him. She held him in place. "Don't," she warned. "Just… do this."

"I don't think I should."

He attempted to pull away again, but she dug her nails into the flesh of those powerful hips. "Your penis is already in my vagina and I want you to finish!"

He wasn't convinced. "You're sure?" He didn't want to hurt her.

She lifted her hips up in response, gasping and arching beneath him as her sharp nails raked across his sternum.

Then she bucked hard against him. Once, twice, and the third time he thrust back involuntarily. He started a slow pace, his fingers likely bruising her hips, worried that he would hurt her if he let himself go. Stars rocketed past her vision again when he changed his angle, hitting some magic spot inside of her and she cried out, her head slamming into the pillow as her spine snapped against his hips.

Within seconds, he released, then slumped forward, his full weight on her.

He panted into her shoulder roughly for a long minute before he rolled off her. "Why didn't you tell me you were a virgin?"

"I didn't think I was."

He turned to face her, the callouses on his hands warm as he pushed smoothed back matted hair from her face. "What do you mean? You've either fucked or you haven't."

"I was fourteen. And it was a girl."

"Fourteen? How old was this girl?"

"The same age."

Bellamy sighed as if relieved and Clarke didn't know what to say. So she got up and crossed the hall to her bathroom where she turned the spigot to fill the tub. She'd feel better once she soaked in hot water.

Fifteen minutes later, Bellamy knocked on the door.

"Come in."

"Are you okay?"

"Yes."

"I'm sorry. I should have asked. But I saw the birth control pills and assumed…"

"They're to regulate my periods. It isn't your fault. There had to be a first time sometime. Right? It'll be better the next time."

"There won't be a next time."

* * *

Bellamy disgusted himself. He'd hurt her physically and emotionally and that was the last thing he'd wanted to do. Her expression when he'd said there wouldn't be a next time filled him with regret. Like he told her - she deserved more than he could give her. She deserved more than an ex-con. Now what was he going to do? He hoped to hell she didn't want to talk about it. What was he thinking? She hated talking. No, tonight would never come up.

He lay awake for hours telling himself the best plan was to pretend it never happened. But he wasn't sure he could. Her cries of pain kept ringing in his ears. He'd never hurt a woman before. Not during sex or any other time. He'd also never been with a virgin but had to admit she'd been so tight, he'd felt like his dick was in a vice.

Shit, he didn't know what to do. He sat up on the edge of the bed and hung his head. He'd heard her come from the bathroom hours ago. She was probably asleep by now. Maybe he should go to her and just hold her. Women liked that sort of thing. He finds that he even wants to go to her, to wrap his arms around her and… no. He wasn't the cuddly type. It would only give her hope and he'd meant what he'd said. It wasn't happening again.

His urge for a smoke and drink hit him hard, but he'd given up the nicotine so he'd settle for whiskey. He pulled on his jeans and headed to the kitchen. Once he got the bottle and glass, he went outside to the back deck, collapsed onto the chaise and propped his feet on the railing.

Moonlight shimmered across the pond. An owl hooted in the distance. Humid air settled on his bare chest. A mixture of honeysuckle and pine floated to him. All the makings for a romantic evening but there'd been no romance.

He drained his glass and refilled it. His attraction to her confused the hell out of him. She was nothing like any of the women he'd been with, in looks or personality. But as quirky as she was, there was something about her he couldn't get past. She wasn't his regular type, slim and brunette, but he loved her light hair and her softness and curves. He actually liked being around her, just the nearness of her, whether they were hanging out or sitting in comfortable silence.

He'd already suffered and lost more than most people his age. Finally, he had a second chance but there was still an emptiness inside him from the years behind bars where'd all he'd thought about was self-preservation. Concentrated on making one day at a time. Get through each twenty-four hours without getting raped, beaten, or killed.

She was like a splinter. Worked her way underneath his skin until he couldn't take it anymore. He knocked back another drink and mentally kicked himself. And damn if he didn't want to make it up to her. Show her what a good lover he could be. He'd been stupid to tell her no more sex because he wanted more. A lot more. To make her scream in pleasure. He wanted to take his time and explore each other's bodies, wanted to find out what she liked and show her what he liked. He wanted to make her tremble beneath him and scream his name when she came. He didn't want a night with her, he wanted every night.

Shit, he'd had too much alcohol. Wasn't thinking clearly. He held the bottle up to the light. Almost empty. He turned it up and swallowed the last slug, then staggered down the hall. He stopped at her door and considered talking to her, but he was drunk but sober enough to know it was a bad idea. He stepped into his room and crumbled onto the bed.

* * *

The next morning, after a sleepless night, Clarke rose early. She'd made a terrible mistake asking Bellamy for sex. They'd become friends and now she'd put that in jeopardy. She expected him to storm inside and tell her get her stuff and leave. But he hadn't.

They had become sort of reluctant friends, and maybe, she once thought, something more. She didn't think she had been reading into the gestures, the small touches, the way he talked to her. Maybe she had, though; maybe it was more fulfilling a physical need and she had thought too much into it, that she had convinced herself of the idea of something more.

She tiptoed into the hallway. His door was ajar, so she peeked through the crack. Shirtless, but still wearing jeans, he sprawled across the bed. Easing the door closed, she slipped quietly to the kitchen. Out on the deck, an empty whiskey bottle and glass sat next to the lounge chair. He wasn't sleeping. He was passed out.

God, she'd been so bad at it, he'd gotten drunk to forget the ordeal. A sharp pain stabbed her chest. She couldn't stay in this house all day with him and see the anger in his eyes from last night. Even now, she was still stupidly attracted to him. She had watched him as his breathing had evened out, his hair curling around his face as he pressed his face into the pillow as if he was trying to smother himself to death in his sleep. The rise and fall of his back, muscles rippling under his skin even as his fingers searched for her in his sleep, had wound around her possessively like a child with a stuffed lamb. She grabbed a bottle of water and headed to Raven's, determined to remove thoughts of Bellamy from her mind.

Even at the early hour, the woods were alive. Birds chattered. Squirrels scampered. Crickets chirped.

Tears pricked her eyes. She'd ruined everything.

As she neared Raven's place, Clarke knew her friend would be in the barn with the goats, so she went straight there. Sure enough, Raven sat on a stool milking Millie, her oldest goat.

"Hey, Clarke. You're out early."

"Wick and Octavia are coming for the Arkadia Festival. I think they'll be here Thursday."

Raven went almost as pale as the milk. "I was afraid of that. Would you be willing to take over milking duties? I'm going to visit my grandmother. I've about convinced Mom and Dad to go with me, so if you don't want to stay at Charamel's, you can stay here."

"Is Wick Tommy's dad?"

Raven took a deep breath and spoke over her shoulder. "Yes. But you can't tell anyone."

"I won't. But why haven't you told him?"

"Because I was stupid to think I meant something to him and I didn't. Besides, he had his life planned. So what would have been the point?"

"Don't you want Tommy to know his dad?"

Raven went back to milking "Yes. And its time. But I need to find out what kind of woman Wick is marrying before I tell him. Once I do, Tommy will spend time with them and sharing him will be hard, but if his step-mother is a bitch, then I can't deal with that."

Clarke's stomach turned. She understood that scenario all too well. Diana had tricked Clarke's dad into thinking she was the perfect woman, but the minute she had the ring on her finger, she showed her true colors. She was a lying, conniving, self-centered gold digger, and wanted Clarke out of the picture permanently. Thank God Dad had only been blinded for a while. But once he learned what a shrew Diana was, he was too sick for the stress of a long divorce battle.  
"I promise not to tell." Clarke bit her bottom lip, her gaze focused on Raven's back, her ponytail swishing behind her. "I slept with Bellamy," she whispered so slightly that for a millisecond, she wondered if Raven had even heard her.

Raven whipped around so fast she almost knocked the bucket over. "What?"

"I had sex with Bellamy and he didn't like it."

Raven set the pail aside. "Did he say that?"

"Not exactly. He said it wouldn't happen again and as much as he likes sex that's all it could be."

"I warned you."

"I'm the one who asked."

"What?"

"I asked him and he refused. I've messed up." Her voice dropped an octave, and she wouldn't meet Raven's eye. "I bet he's going to ask me to leave."

Raven studied her, folded in on herself. Embarrassed, or maybe a little overwhelmed. "Maybe not. Tell me everything," she prompted, gently. She wanted Clarke to be able to open up to her, to know she wouldn't judge her.

When Clarke finished the story, Raven stood, took the milk to the cooler, then turned back. "Why did you ask him?"

"Because I think I'm in love with him."

"Oh, Clarke. You hardly know him. I understand the attraction. He's been nice to you recently, and that's confusing."

She shook her head. In that moment, Raven was reminding her of Keenan. For all the love stories and bodice rippers her old friend actively read, she always tried to downplay emotions, like a parent chiding a small child. "No. I'm not confused. I think about him all the time. When I'm at work, I can't wait to see him. I lie awake at night with dirty thoughts about him. I wish I'd been better, then he'd still want to be with me. Now he'll go back to bringing women home."

"Then it's settled. Starting tonight, you'll stay here until after his family comes and goes. That will give you time to sort things out. Now that you know he's not interested, then maybe you'll stop thinking about him so much."

Clarke frowned. She respected Raven, but her dismissal of her emotions left her gritting her teeth. Maybe Raven was right, but she wasn't entirely unbiased. She knew how the other girl felt about the Blakes from the slew of comments she made over the last few months. Not to mention her closely guarded secret.

Clarke spent the rest of the morning making lists for taking care of the goats and how to store the milk. She'd stayed so busy; she'd barely thought of Bellamy which made her think Raven was right. Keeping her distance was the best idea.

Not wanting to intrude on Raven's family, Clarke agreed to stay only if she slept in the barn. Raven tried to convince her otherwise, but Clarke stuck to her plan. The workshop's small bathroom had a shower and that would do. She liked throwing a quilt on top of a clean pile of hay and snuggling into it.

After his family left, she supposed things could go back to the way they were when Bellamy first arrived. They'd avoid each other. Or, it was time for her to move on. Find a bigger city to get lost in. She had enough cash; she wouldn't have to work. Just concentrate on painting. Do pieces good enough to put in a gallery. Once she returned to Baton Rouge, her connections to the art scene would get her foot in the door.

Or maybe head to Austin. Their eclectic creative community was a place where she wouldn't be noticed. She pulled out her phone and searched facts about the city. Wow, they had so many events going on each weekend, she'd be able to blend in with no problem.

Next, she scrolled rental properties in the area. Plenty of places she could afford until she had to face Diana.

Clarke heaved a deep cleansing breath and the weight of her mistake lifted. As soon as the festival was over, and Raven returned home, Clarke would hit the road. Come Monday, she'd turn in her notice at work.

She'd always have fond memories of this place. Charamel. Raven. Harper. Bellamy. No, not Bellamy. She couldn't allow any of him. At least not for a while. Someday, she'd look back on how he'd held her hand when she'd been frightened, the way he'd rescued her from Myles, and let her keep Crassus. But not for a while. Maybe never. Leaving would help, and in ten more days, it'd be goodbye, Arkadia, hello, Austin.


	11. Chapter 11

Bellamy figured Clarke was staying with Raven because she'd not been home since Saturday. Just as well. And besides, this is what he'd wanted all along. To have the whole place to himself. There was only one problem. He hated it.

Not having her across the hall drove him nuts. Sitting at the dinner table alone made him downright surly. And missing out on her fucking word of the day pissed him off. He'd tried to ease his pain by going to Grounders, but couldn't get interested in anything there. He could find something wrong with all of them. Too tall, too slim, not the right shade of blond.

Most nights he had a couple of drinks, then came home and got drunk in private. That way, he didn't have to worry about losing sleep. He fell into a whiskey coma and came too when the booze wore off. He had to stop acting like a teenager with his first crush. He didn't understand it; why did he think about her all the time?

He rubbed his hand over his four-day-old beard. Hell, he didn't even to want shave anymore. Didn't want to do much of anything but drink until he was in a stupor.

Thankfully, Wick and Octavia would arrive tomorrow and he'd have plenty to do. Fishing. Target practice. Octavia kicking his ass at video games when before prison, it had been the other way around. Once the festival started, he'd take them into town to check out the barbecue cook-off and antique car show and Octavia would probably find her own niche. Bellamy remembered how much he and O liked the three-legged race and tractor pull. Too old for that now but the pancake breakfast was always a big crowd pleaser. He'd talk them into getting up early for that.

He walked to the window, peered into the early morning light, and his heart stopped. She was in the garden. Hoeing weeds and dragging dirt around the stalks of the tomato plants. She wore a shirt he'd not seen before. A blue button-up. The top two unfastened allowing the fabric to fall open at her throat. Even from this distance he could tell she wasn't wearing a bra.

The memory of having those heavy breasts in his mouth caused his cock to jump. Damn it. He opened the door and ambled toward her. "Hey."

She didn't look up or stop working. "Hey."

"You been staying at Raven's?"

"Yeah."

Why wouldn't she look at him? "When are you coming home?"

That stopped her, but she still didn't face him. Just leaned against the hoe handle as if considering his question. Then she took a deep breath and went back to working the dirt. "This isn't my home."

"Yes, it is. You pay rent. That makes it yours. My sister and Wick will be here tomorrow. I wanted you to meet them."

"Why?"

The question caught him off guard. "Because I've told them about you. We live together. You lived with Charamel. I think they'd like to know you." Damn. None of that sounded like a good reason. Truth was, he didn't give a shit if they met her or not, he needed her to come back. She gave him something to look forward to, changed the repetitiveness of his days with her quirkiness. He missed her word of the days. He missed her. So why couldn't he say that?

"I'll try to drop by one afternoon."

"For God's sake, Clarke. Look at me."

At first she didn't move but then she faced him with an expression as blank as his brain. He ran his hand across his face again. "I'm sorry about the other night."

Something flickered in her eyes, then she bit her bottom lip. "I'm sorry, too."

He advanced on her and she backed up, distancing herself from the situation. He stuck his hands in his pockets, even though he ached to touch her, to feel the weight of her under his hands; to card his fingers through her hair. "I know."

"Then why are you mad at me?"

"I'm not. I'm mad at myself."

She shrugged. "Just one big solecism, I guess."

There it was. Her fucking word. "You won't have to give up your room."

She started hoeing again. "That's okay. Raven is leaving town for the weekend, and I'm taking care of the goats. I need to stay there, anyway."

Bellamy kicked the dirt and turned to go. There was no changing her mind. He'd only taken a few steps when she called after him, and for a split second, hope overwhelmed him.

"Hey."

He turned and shaded his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Is it alright if Crassus goes with me?"

His chest tightened. "Sure. Take him."

"Thanks."

The heels of Bellamy's boots dug into the ground as he went back into the house. Why did she have to be so stubborn? He thought about her word. Solecism. Mistake. Blunder. Error. Her leaving. And most of all everything he'd said.

Even for him it was too early to drink, but he needed something to calm his nerves. He grabbed his keys and headed to his truck. Fifteen minutes later, he parked in front of the Quickie Mart. When he pushed open the door, Raven stood behind the counter.

"I thought you were out of town."

She looked past him as if she expected to see someone with him. "Oh, no I'm not leaving until tomorrow."

"You're here early."

"Worked the night shift. Getting off in thirty minutes. What can I help you with?"

"Pack of Marlboro short reds in a box."

She pulled the pack from the rack behind her and laid them next to the register. "I thought you'd stopped smoking. What happened? Fall off the wagon?"

He took money from his wallet and handed it to her. "Something like that. I saw Clarke this morning."

Raven rang up the sale and offered his change, glaring at him with such an intensity that Medusa would be proud. "You're breaking her heart, you know." Her voice sounded calm, deadpan even, but he knew her well enough to see the irritation in her features. He couldn't even bring himself to match her irritation, tell her to mind her own business. Clarke was her friend, she was just looking out for her in her own stubborn Raven Reyes way, and he couldn't fault her for that.

"How you figure that?"

"Never mind. Not my business. I shouldn't have said anything."

What had Clarke been telling her? Except for the bad decision, he'd been as nice as possible. He clenched his teeth. "But you did, so what the hell are you talking about?"

"She thinks she's in love with you."

Pain pierced his temples like his brain might explode. He shook his head. "Not possible."

"Oh, it's possible all right. Do you really think she'd ask for sex without being emotional?"

"Well, yeah. I mean—we all need—it's just a way of—shit, I thought she was horny and since I was available…" His voice trailed off and he ran a hand over his face. "Wait. She told you about it?"

"The basics. She asked you. Yadda yadda. And you said you never wanted to do it again. Great pep-talk by the way. You really know how to make a girl feel special."

"Fuck. I hope she told you I tried to stop, but she didn't want to."

"Yeah, she mentioned that. Look, I'm not blaming you for how she feels. But you need to put some distance between you. That's why I have her staying at my place. Maybe by the time I get back in town, she will have come to her senses."

"What does that mean?"

"That it's a crush. I'm pretty sure you're the first man she's been around other than family members so she doesn't have enough experience to tell the difference between infatuation and the real thing. Just stay away from her. That way she won't read more into your kindness than you intend."

He grabbed the box of cigarettes and shoved into his pocket. "Yeah. Sure." He spun around and stormed out.

All the way home Bellamy cursed himself. So Clarke had a crush on him. Big deal. Not his fault. She'd known from the minute he showed up what he thought about sex. A basic need with no attachments. He'd never led her to believe anything else. Sure he cared about her, and he missed her. But he'd miss anybody when they were in his face all the time.

Okay, she wasn't in his face, but she was always there. She'd made herself useful, and he'd let her. But he'd told over and over how much he appreciated what she did.

Had she misinterpreted that? Apparently so. Is that why she'd asked?

Raven was right. He needed to stay away from her. Maybe he didn't want to give her his class ring, but he sure as hell didn't want to hurt her either. When her goat duty was over, and she came back home, he'd keep his distance. No more picnics in the park or banquets or unnecessary conversations. He could go right back to the moody asshole he'd been when he arrived. That should make her fall out of her crush on him pretty damn fast. Maybe then she'd realize she deserved better than him.

Clarke watched Bellamy stomp into the house and she almost cried. When she'd claimed this wasn't her home, and he'd said it was, joy bubbled in her chest. He'd given her several reasons to come back, but not the right one. He didn't miss her. He didn't want her. He didn't need her.

Yeah, she bet he'd told Wick and maybe even Octavia plenty. No question they were eager to meet the freak who'd ask their brother for sex and then didn't know what the hell she was doing. She'd wager they'd gotten a good laugh. On the bright side, she couldn't get any worse so if Bellamy had been willing, she could have improved.

Pressing her palm to her chest, she closed her eyes and filled her lungs with fresh air. Her heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat and hear it in her head. Her chest ached, as if her heart had been filled and now she missed the weight of it.

Standing in the early light, he'd looked so good she'd had a hard time facing him. All broad shoulders, hard muscles, and scruffy beard that looked out of place. She loved him but he didn't love her back and never would. She'd made the right decision. Leaving this place was for the best. She didn't belong here. She didn't belong anywhere or to anyone. But she'd wanted to belong with Bellamy.

He'd only stayed in the house a few minutes, then came back out and she was idiot enough to think he was going to ask her back for the right reason. But instead, he climbed into his truck and took off like he was driving a get-away car. Appropriate. He'd stolen everything from her. Heart. Love. No, not stolen. She'd given it freely.

* * *

The next day, Bellamy glared at the cigarettes but couldn't bring himself to smoke one. If he did, then the month he'd been nicotine free was all for nothing.

The day before while he'd been in town, Clarke had been in the house. She'd changed the sheets on her bed and made his. The pile of clothes he'd left in his chair were gone. Even after the awkward encounter and difficult conversation, she was still taking care of him. As an heiress, he guessed she was used to people catering to her every whim but somehow she remained unspoiled. She didn't put herself before others and he'd never seen a single indication she felt entitled to special treatment.

On the dining table, she'd placed a vase filled with Indian paintbrush and phlox from the field across the road. Charamel used to do the same thing. Said she needed to 'pretty things up' when company came.

He turned his attention to the hamburger meat on the counter and divided it into patties. Later, when Octavia and Wick arrived, he'd fire up the grill. Afterwards, if they wanted, he'd take them to Grounders. Since the town was gearing up for the festival, the local bar should be hopping with tourists. Hell, maybe he'd even find a woman to suit him.

It didn't take long to get his menu in order and then he looked around for something else to do. He had time to kill. He could walk to Raven's and try to reason with Clarke again and straighten out the misunderstanding. Explain that she couldn't fall in love with someone as fucked up and damaged as he. She had her whole life ahead of her. She certainly didn't need to get hung up on an ex-con.

At some point, she'd go home and take her rightful place. Attend galas and operas and be featured in the society pages. He'd never fit into that world. He picked up the cigarettes, shook one out, and brought it to his nose. He inhaled a long breath. Damn, he craved it. Bad. He replaced it, then crushed the box in his fist and threw it in the trash.

Stepping to the porch, he gazed across the pond. Not a ripple or a whiff of a breeze. A bullfrog croaked a steady rhythm that sounded like a motor grinding. That gave him an idea. He'd not driven the Harley in weeks. He went back inside, put on his boots, and trekked out to the barn.

Thirty minutes later, a cloud of dust trailed behind as he blazed down the road. When he got to town, the main drag was open, but most of the side streets were roped off where people were busy setting up food wagons, carnival games, and arts and crafts booths. Local business owners hustled to arrange outside tables and shelves for their yearly sidewalk sale.

He made a slow pass through town and parked in front of the bar. He could see the place was already more packed than usual. Normally, he'd have a drink, but wasn't in the mood—for much of anything. He wondered if Clarke had attended the festival before. He'd never asked. Charamel would have wanted her to, but wouldn't have forced her. If not, he hated for her to miss the closing ceremony fireworks. Maybe he'd see her on Saturday and try to convince her. No. What he needed was to stop thinking about her. And he would. Starting now.

Bellamy spent most of the day in town, offering his services to help vendors. They gladly accepted, and it helped him pass the time. At three, he'd gone home to shower and shave. Now, standing on the porch, he watched Wick's truck barrel down the dirt road toward the house. When he brought the Chevy to a halt, Bellamy rushed out to meet them half-way.

Octavia was the first to emerge and threw her arms around her brother. "Wick still can't drive worth a shit. We're lucky to be alive."

"That is not true! I'm an excellent driver." He fell in behind Octavia and took his turn embracing Bellamy. "Damn, look at you. Beefed up a little haven't you?"

"Yeah. That's what decent food will do for you. Come on. I can't wait to show you the place."

After a tour and more complaints from Octavia about Wick's driving and Lincoln being unable to get off work, Bellamy got beers from the fridge and placed them on the table. Wick grabbed his and downed half of it.

Octavia came down the hall carrying a bag and pitched it to Bellamy. "Got you some gifts."

Bellamy grinned and pulled out tee-shirts and read each one. "I didn't like prison. They got the wrong kind of bars in there. Funny, real funny."

"The blue is for Wick."

Bellamy pitched it to him and Wick eyed it. "You think I'll wear this?"

"Let me see."

Wick turned the shirt and Bellamy read, "Heads, I get tail. Tails, I get head."

Octavia laughed. "What's wrong? You don't think your little debutant will see the humor in it?"

He gritted his teeth. He hadn't told her Clarke's past, he promised he'd tell no one at her request, and Octavia's comment wasn't far from the truth. It unnerved him a little. He knew she was just making an offhanded remark, that she didn't actually know anything, but still. "No. She won't."

Bellamy took two more from the sack. "You went a little crazy on the shirts didn't you, O?"

"Oh, the green is mine."

Wick smirked. "Fries before guys."

Bellamy stared at the pink one. "Irony. The opposite of wrinkly. Who is this for?"

"Oh, your roommate. Since she likes those words of the day and does housework, I thought it was perfect. I want to meet her. Where is she?"

"I think I also mentioned she isn't comfortable around strangers, so she's staying with Raven."

"What? We're not going to meet her? Did you tell her we don't bite?"

"Yeah, but not gonna work out this time. Maybe next trip. Are you hungry? I've got burgers ready to put on the grill."

"Let's wait awhile. I wanted to take a look around the place," Wick said. "It's the first time we've been here since Charamel's funeral."

Octavia headed to the back door. "I kind of want to go fishing. Like old times," she added wistfully, no doubt remembering the time she slung the pole back with too much force and hit Bellamy in the face with a fish, but not before tearing his upper lip on the hook.

"Okay, I'll get the bait. You get the poles out of the barn and I'll meet you at the boat." Bellamy turned to Wick. "You sure you don't want to go?"

"No, I think I'll take a walk in the woods. Clear my head of all the wedding crap I'm having to deal with. I don't know why she can't make all the decisions without me, because she does anyway."

As Bellamy and Octavia pushed off from the shore, Bellamy looked at his little sister. "What's the deal with Wick?"

"Pretty obvious, right?"

"Yeah. Is it the wedding?"

"Between you and me, it's more than that. He's not in love with her. I keep telling him to break it off, but he won't do it." She side-eyed Bellamy. "The men in this family are idiots."

He elected to ignore her comment, even if she was right. "Then why did he propose? Oh hell, he didn't knock her up, did he?"

"No. I think he got caught up in her world and lost his good sense. I mean, she's rich. Her dad donates a shit ton of money to the university every year, and wants Wick to quit the engineering department and work for him. It all went to his head and now he doesn't know what to do. But he's about to fuck up his life. Big time. Maybe you can straighten him out."

"About—Ontari, right?"

Octavia nodded and baited his hook, then dropped it into the water.

Bellamy did the same. "How is she?"

"Spoiled rotten. Gets her way about everything. She plans Wick's life twenty-four-seven. The only reason he's here, is because she wants him to break the news that you can't be in the wedding. Can't have an ex-con in the social event of the year. Bitch."

Bellamy raised a hand in surrender. "That's okay with me. I don't give a shit. I'll be happy to sit on the back row and pretend I don't know him."

"That's not the point. It's his wedding, too, and if he wants you in it, then you should be. I'm telling you, he's going to be miserable. Once they're married, we'll never see him again. She'll make sure of that."

* * *

Crassus sat up straight and perked his ears which caused Clarke to do the same. She didn't hear anything, but the dog must have. She closed her sketch pad and scooted closer to the window. She wished it would be Bellamy coming to find her. Such a stupid idea. Why did she keep torturing herself with these ridiculous fantasies?

Crassus whined and Clarke squinted into the afternoon light. Finally, a figure came into view. Too blond to be Bellamy, but who? In all the years she'd been coming here, other than Tommy or Raven's dad, she'd never seen another man at the treehouse.

When the stranger got to the thick pines blocking out the sun, she recognized him. Wick. Her heart hammered. Maybe he wouldn't climb the ladder. Just stand below and check it out. She slid on her butt to the rear wall, pulled Crassus onto her lap and closed her hand around his muzzle.

With only one door, she had nowhere to go. She held her breath as she heard Wick take the first rung. Then the second. Third. When his face appeared in the opening, she spoke. "Hello."

"Holy shit! You scared me."

Crassus growled, but Clarke held him tight. She didn't know if he'd bite or not. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay. I wasn't expecting to see anyone. You must be Clarke. I'm Wick. Bellamy's…"

"I know who you are. I've seen pictures."

He leaned inside. "May I come in?"

Clarke gave it some thought. This could be her chance to help Raven. Find out about Wick's bride. "Okay."

With his hands, he pushed until his hips were even with the floor, then maneuvered inside. "What are you doing up here?"

She nodded toward her tablet. "Drawing."

"I saw the mural. You're really good. Which reminds me. We don't need your room. Bellamy said you're staying with a friend while Octavia and I are here. That isn't necessary. We'll stay out of your way. We were hoping you'd come with us to the festival."

"Why?"

"Because you're Bellamy's friend and we want to include you. There's a street dance tonight. Why don't you come? That way, we'd have a partner."

Wick wasn't anything like Bellamy. No bad attitude. No rough voice. He was polite—and kind. She saw it in his eyes. "I don't dance."

"Then it'd be a good time to learn. The crowd will be so big no one would notice. I've been taking lessons because of my upcoming wedding, so I could teach you a few steps."

"What's your bride like?"

"Oh. She's… a spitfire, I guess. From a good family. Does a lot of volunteer work."

"What's her name?"

"Ontari Banks. She's going to hyphenate her name because she thinks Ontari Wick sounds weird."

Clarke couldn't help but smile.

"You want kids?"

Another look of surprise. "Well, sure. Someday."

"Do you think Ontari will be a good mother?" Clarke asked gently, hoping he didn't pick up on her real intent for asking. She couldn't help herself, watching him, cataloguing the similarities between Wick and Tommy. While he inherited Raven's skin tone and hair color, the shape and color of his eyes and mouth, and even his ears easily suggested Wick.

He looked dumbfounded, but shook it off quickly. "Uh, I guess. She'll be good at hiring the right nanny."

Clarke picked up her sketch pad. "I've got to go. It's time to milk the goats."

"What goats?"

"My friend, Raven. She's out of town so I'm taking care of her business while she's gone."

Wick slid toward the ladder and waited for Clarke to join him. "When is Raven coming back?"

"Sunday night."

"Too bad. I was hoping to see her before I left."

"Why?"

"We're old friends. I wanted to catch up."

Clarke took the leash from around her neck, hooked it in the dog's collar, and placed him on the ground. The she stuck her sketch pad under her arm. "She works two jobs. About to get her degree next month. Starting up a goat milk product line to save money to buy her own garage. That catches you up."

"Thank you. She seeing anyone?"

"Why do you care? You're getting married. Right?"

"Right. I was curious, that's all." He pulled his brows together. "You get right to the point, don't you?"

"Yes."

Wick smiled. "I like it. I like you. Come to the festival with us. I'll even help with the goats if you need me."

Clarke cocked her head. She couldn't figure this guy out. "You're weird."

"So are you. Another reason for us to hang-out."

* * *

When she accepted Wick's invitation, Clarke saw no reason to tell him she'd already planned to go with Harper to the festival. Instead, she'd agreed if he'd let her bring a friend. Because once Harper learned about the botched sex and the current situation with Bellamy, she'd insisted Clarke accompany her. Claimed a night out was what a girl needed to heal a broken heart. Clarke didn't think hers was broken. More like cracked. But it wasn't Bellamy's fault she'd fallen in love with him.

Harper didn't make excuses about her ulterior motive. She had a crush on Octavia, and didn't seem to deterred by the fact Octavia had a boyfriend. "Well, if they're serious, then where is he?" she asked when Clarke told her as such. She didn't think Harper would actively pursue Octavia, though, maybe just stare and sigh wistfully.

According to Raven, Clarke and Harper were both nuts for wanting to get involved in any way with that family. Considering Raven's history with Wick, Clarke thought her opinion was biased. As much as Raven protested, Clarke saw the look in her eyes every time Wick's name was mentioned. Raven still loved him. And Tommy looked so much like Wick it was spooky. The way he cocked his head. The curve of his lips. Put those two in the same room, and everyone would know Wick was his dad.

Clarke put the last goat in the stall and went to the shop to shower. Harper texted earlier to say she was bringing something for Clarke to wear. If she wanted to admit it or not, she'd liked wearing the dress to the banquet. She'd not worn anything but pants and tee-shirts for so long, she'd forgotten how nice clothes made her feel.

She'd missed that part of her life. And her long hair. And the trips to the spa. Man, what she'd give for a day beneath Janine's hands. The woman gave the best massages in the universe. Clarke shook her head. If she'd given that up and not thought about it until now, surely she could block Bellamy from her mind. All it took was determination and time. Two things she had plenty of.

At six o'clock, Harper burst through the door like a fireball. Clarke didn't think the girl ever had a bad day.

She shoved a clothes bag forward. "You will be so beautiful in this outfit; he will be drooling."

"I don't think so."

Harper pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "I've been thinking about your dilemma. That conversation you had with him in the garden says a lot. He wants you to come back and I don't think it's because you pay rent." She held up her hand. "I know. I know. That's what you think, but he didn't have to come out there and talk to you. But he did. Sure, he feels bad about what happened, as he should, but it's more than that. He just doesn't know it…yet."

"I don't understand."

"I know you don't because you don't know how to play the game. But I do and I'll help you. Nothing gets a guy more interested than thinking you're not interested in him. So tonight, give all your attention to Wick."

"You mean I should try to make him jealous?"

"Yep."

"But Wick is engaged."

"Doesn't matter. What does, is that you'll be paying attention to another man. Look happy. Giggle now and then. Don't even glance at Bellamy and see what happens. If you're right and he's not interested, you'll be able to tell. But if I'm right, and I know I am, then he'll make a move."

In a spaghetti strap multi-colored sundress, as always, Harper was beautiful. Her blonde hair fell loose to her shoulders.

As Clarke slipped the white shirt over her head, she wasn't sure about Harper's plan, but she had more experience with romance, so Clarke figured she might as well try it. She smoothed the hem of the blouse over the skirt and added a chain belt. Harper had not missed a detail. From the chandelier earrings to the beaded sandals. A shocking transformation, turning Clarke into a Bohemian Cinderella.

Trailing behind Harper as she shoved open the door to Grounders, the perky blonde sashayed in like she owned the place. Impressive for a preacher's daughter. But then again, she was the type that could fit in anywhere.

Not Clarke. She'd never even been inside a bar. Sure, she'd been to the country club with her dad ever since she was a child, but that was different. Every person in the place knew him and his weird daughter and he'd been her security. Here, she wasn't the steel king's peculiar kid, she was just odd.

She spotted Bellamy as soon as she set foot inside, but quickly moved her gaze to Wick. He rose and came to meet them.

"Hey, glad you made it."

His smile and greeting was so warm, Clarke relaxed a little, but she could feel Bellamy's eyes on her. "This is my friend, Harper."

Harper flashed her trademark full wattage. The expression that rendered men speechless. Wick shook her hand then motioned for them to follow. Once they reached the table, Octavia and Bellamy stood. Octavia wore a shirt printed with Fries Before Guys. Wick and Bellamy had opted for plain rumpled v-necks. Bellamy's arms were crossed in front of his chest, the muscles on his biceps strained against his tight navy blue shirt. She bit her lip and tried to look away.

After introductions, Wick pulled out a chair for Clarke and did the same for Harper. Bellamy plopped back onto his and zeroed in on Clarke.

"Clarke, surprised to see you."

Under the table, Harper bumped Clarke's knee as if to remind her of the scheme. "Wick was so convincing, I couldn't refuse."

Harper patted Clarke's leg in approval.

"What do you girls want to drink?" Wick asked.

"Frozen margarita for me," Harper said, then looked at Clarke.

"I can just have a soda."

Harper gazed at Bellamy but spoke to Clarke. "Don't be ridiculous. Have something virgin."

Bellamy choked on air, shooting a deer-in-headlights look toward Harper as Clarke leveled her with a surprisingly forceful glare, watching him out of the corner of her eye. Harper remained unaffected, as if she didn't even notice. Or maybe she didn't care. Bellamy's eyes shifted to Clarke, and she glanced at him a short second before focusing on Wick, who was waiting for her to make her order.

She cleared her throat. "Oh, okay. Then I'll have a Peach Bellini."

"Coming right up." Wick walked away.

"So," Octavia said, eyeing Clarke. Her expression was so neutral, that she'd be hell to play against at poker. Or anything, really. "You're the girl shacking up with my brother."

Clarke's stomach spiraled. This was a mistake. Bellamy's eyes bored into Clarke with such fire, she wanted to run away. Afraid to move, she sat ruler straight. Why couldn't she be like Harper and say clever things and flirt and not be so aware of every awkward movement she made? Thankfully, Wick returned with the drinks and that gave her something to do with her hands.

Bellamy gulped his beer, then leaned closer and whispered in her ear. "You look beautiful."

Her heart jumped into her throat and tears built behind her eyes. Why'd he say that? Harper glared at her, so Clarke took a deep breath but didn't look at Bellamy when she spoke. She couldn't. Instead she focused on her hands folded in her lap. "Thank you. You look nice."

Wick must have noticed her discomfort because he jumped to his feet and held his hand out. "Come on, Clarke. Let's dance."

As nervous as she was to get on the dance floor, it was safer than sitting next to Bellamy with him saying nice things and Octavia and her scary prying.

Wick tugged her out of her seat and pulled her into his arms. "Shit, this is awkward."

"I'm sorry. I told you I don't dance."

"Not the dancing. You. And Bellamy. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Should've known. You're into him, aren't you?"

"No." The word didn't even sound convincing to her. Considering everything about her was a lie, she should be better at it.

"Yeah, you are. I know the look. As much as I love my brother, I advise against getting involved with him."

"It isn't like that. We had an argument. That's all. I shouldn't have come. I didn't want to, but Harper wanted to meet Octavia, and she thought it'd be easier if I came along. I want to leave. I'll say I don't feel well. Can you take me?"

He brought her in closer and looked over her shoulder. "From the way he is watching us, I'd say it's too late to take my advice. So, let's get his blood really boiling." Wick twirled her, then pulled her back to him and kissed her cheek.

She stiffened.

"No, don't do that. Smile up at me and say something."

She plastered on a fake grin and connected with his eyes. "What should I say?"

"Tell me what a good dancer I am."

"You're a good dancer."

"Tell me how handsome I am."

"You're handsome, but you need a haircut."

He chuckled. "Maybe you can help me with that. Bellamy says you're a hairdresser."

"Sure."

He dipped her and she couldn't help but laugh. Then he leaned close to her ear. "Tell me I'm the world's best engineer."

"I don't know how accurate that is."

"Just say it."

"You're the world's best engineer."

"God, you're easy." He laughed again.

"Doesn't Ontari ever tell you those things?"

He pulled his brows together. "No. Come to think of it, she doesn't."

"Then why are you marrying her?"

"I've been asking myself that same question the last few weeks."

"Oprah says doubt means no. Maybe there's someone perfect right around the corner and you haven't realized it yet." More like just through the woods.

"You think?"

"Yes."

"Well, about that haircut. Can you give me one tomorrow?"

"When?"

"I'm an early riser, so come to the house about seven."

"Okay."


	12. Chapter 12

Bellamy rolled to his left then to his right. He fluffed the pillow. Punched it down. Finally gave up and came to his feet. After seeing Wick and Clarke together all night, he couldn't sleep. What the hell was wrong with him? In two months, he'd get married, so why was he being so attentive to her? And on top of all that, she'd been eating it up. Talking. Dancing. Laughing. What the hell had gotten into her?

She couldn't have a decent conversation with Bellamy but she'd turned into someone else entirely with his step-brother. She'd looked so damn beautiful; she'd taken Bellamy's breath away. His jaw ticked in annoyance. He wanted to be the one making her smile and laugh, carefree as she clung to his arms as he twirled her around the dance floor. Octavia had pestered him relentlessly about Clarke.

Coffee, Bellamy needed caffeine. Once he had some, he'd feel better. He glanced at the clock. Six-forty-five.

Bellamy went to the bathroom, took a quick shower, pulled on his jeans and new tee-shirt, and headed to the kitchen. When he got to the end of the hall, voices came from the front porch. He strolled to a good vantage point and peered out. Shit. Clarke was cutting Wick's hair. What the hell?

He froze in place as he watched her run her fingers through the strands, divide a section, and clip. As she moved around his chair, he spread his legs wide for her to stand closer. Damn it. All he had to do was lean forward, and he'd be resting his face in the valley of her breasts. Fucking Wick, he thought, remembering the way Clarke's fingers had pulled at his own curls and her nails had scraped his scalp.

They were talking, but he couldn't hear what they were saying. He wished he could. She'd fallen into an easy friendship with Wick and that bothered Bellamy. A lot. Maybe because his relationship with her was strained at the moment. But he intended to change that. As soon as his family left, he'd get the whole mess straightened out.

* * *

Out of the corner of her eye, Clarke caught a glimpse of Bellamy. "He's watching us."

"Good. Let him get an eye full. I'll spread my legs apart and you move in closer."

"What's the use? It didn't work last night."

"Oh yeah, it did. He didn't have three sentences to say all the way home. He was pissed."

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because Bellamy deserves to be happy and I think you make that happen."

"No, I don't."

"Yeah. You do. When he calls, you're all he talks about."

"Really?" She grimaced at the sound of her voice, but she couldn't hide her surprise.

"Yeah, really. His dad was a lousy husband, but a decent parent. At least to me and Octavia. Not so much with Bellamy. They haven't spoken in years. So, given that wrecked relationship, losing his mother at a young age, his fiancé dumping him, and the time he spent behind bars, he's afraid to love anybody."

Clarke stepped back, eyed her work and ran her hands through his hair one last time. "That's better."

"You want to hear something crazy?"

"What?"

"I don't want to go home."

"Then don't."

He whispered a laugh. "Damn. I wish it was that simple."

* * *

Later she cornered Octavia outside the house, away from everyone. "If I hire you as my lawyer, you can't repeat anything I tell you. Right?"

Octavia narrowed her eyes. "Is this about Bellamy?"

Clarke shook her head. "No." Not in the sense Octavia thinks. But Bellamy trusted Octavia, so that meant to Clarke she was trustworthy.

"Then, yeah. But money has to change hands. So you need to give me a dollar before you confess."

She pulled a hundred-dollar bill from her pocket and handed it to her. "You're hired."

"Okay. So what do you need to tell me?"

"Nothing right now. But there may come a time when I do. When that happens, you'll be there for me, right?"

"Of course. I'm your lawyer."

* * *

Bellamy wanted to ask Wick what he and Clarke had been talking about, but decided not to. None of his business. If she'd taken a liking to his step brother, then that got the pressure off him and things could get back to normal. According to Octavia, Wick needed to break his engagement anyway, so if his interest in Clarke made that happen, Bellamy should be happy. Should be. But he wasn't. Not by a long shot.

He poured his second cup of coffee as Wick came in from the porch all chipper, and it pissed Bellamy off.

Taking a mug from the cabinet, Wick filled it and turned to face his brother. "You're up early."

Bellamy scowled. "So are you. Nice haircut."

Wick ran his fingers through the strands. "Thought I'd take advantage of Clarke's skills. She did a good job."

"Yeah."

"What's wrong with you? Who pissed in your cereal?"

"Fuck you, Wick."

"Whoa. What's this about?"

"You know damn well what it's about. She has no experience with guys. You're giving her the wrong impression."

"What? That I want to be her friend? Because she's clear about that."

"You don't know her like I do. She takes things the wrong way sometimes. You could hurt her."

"Well, I promise I won't." Wick rolled his eyes. It was obvious how Bellamy felt for Clarke, and the other way around, and the two of them were too stupid to just admit it to themselves, much less one another. If it wasn't amusing to watch Bellamy come to a resolution about caring for someone other than Octavia, he'd probably smack him upside the head.

"If you do, you'll answer to me," he growled.

"Noted." Wick deadpanned. "Now what's up for today?"

"If Octavia ever gets home, I thought we'd go knock down some cans. You brought your pistol, didn't you?"

"Yeah. 'Tav, too."

"Great. Later, we can drive to Breaux Bridge. They have a steak house that's gotten rave reviews."

"Sounds good. What if Octavia wants to invite Clarke?"

He frowned. When had Octavia and Clarke even talked? But because O was relentless, he knew it was likely that she'd invite Clarke solely because of Bellamy. "Fine by me."

"Are you sure?"

"Just spit it out, Wick."

"Last night you didn't seem happy about Clarke being there. So what's going on?"

Bellamy drained his cup and set it on the counter with more force than he intended. "We've had a misunderstanding. Nothing that can't be fixed when she comes back home."

"Okay. Well, I'm going to take a quick shower. By the time I'm done, maybe O will have finished getting ready. Why do girls around here even bother? In this humidity, she'll sweat makeup off in an hour." Wick placed his mug next to Bellamy's and started down the hallway.

Bellamy called after him. He was in a shitty mood and wasn't ready to give Wick a free pass. "When do you plan to break the news to me about the wedding?"

Wick stopped in his tracks, then turned around. "I've been waiting for the right time. I guess O said something already." He frowned. "Of course she did," he mumbled.

"Let me go on record that I don't give a shit, but I gotta say, she sounds like a real bitch. So why are you marrying her?"

Wick ran his hand over his jaw, then thinned his lips into a tight line. The Blake (and Wick) siblings never beat around the bush, and it wasn't the first time he'd been verbally bitch slapped by one or both of them. Neither understood finesse. "I'm not sure anymore. Currently in the process of trying to work that out."

Worry lines formed above his eyes, misery apparent, so Bellamy nodded, and dropped it. Wick didn't move for a minute clearly waiting for Bellamy to say more, but he didn't. No need to add to his problem.

Wick took a deep breath, then disappeared down the hall and into the bedroom, leaving Bellamy to deal with his own guilt. Truth was, he didn't want Clarke to go with them. Last night had been so awkward; he'd wanted to leave. Having her around while she focused on Wick put Bellamy in a foul mood. He wasn't jealous. Only concerned. She'd read too much into his kindness and he didn't want the same thing to happen again just because Wick was being nice to her.

Okay, he was jealous. The way she'd laughed and danced was a different side he'd not seen. At least Wick didn't seem to know what happened between them, but if Harper kept making subtle remarks, it wouldn't be long until everyone knew. All he wanted was for Clarke to come home so he could try to fix it, for things to stop being awkward between them.

When Wick came from the shower, Octavia still hadn't come down yet and Wick didn't want to go shoot guns without her. The weekend wasn't turning out the way Bellamy planned or hoped.

"Would it bother you if 'Tav and I stayed a few extra days?"

The question surprised Bellamy. He didn't think they were having much of a good time. Well, maybe it was just Octavia. He knew she was missing Lincoln; the two had been inseparable since they'd met years ago. Even Bellamy couldn't have kept them apart. And he had tried. At least he slept better knowing Octavia wanted to make something out of herself and have a career before she settled down, and that Lincoln, formidable giant that he was, was an apparent softie who looked at Octavia like she hung the moon. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like. But I thought your bride had you on a tight schedule."

"She does but I need more time away from her to help me sort out things."

"If you break it off with her, what will happen to your job offer?"

"Goes down the drain."

"You couldn't still teach at the university?"

"No, and Ontari's dad can fix it where I won't be able to work anywhere in Baton Rouge. I have a lot to consider. My future depended on my marriage. And before you start in on me, I know it was a stupid mistake."

"Maybe so, but marrying someone you don't love would be worse."

Wick chuckled. "Clarke quoted Oprah and said doubt means no. She also mentioned something about finding someone perfect."

Bellamy fisted his hands. "What'd I tell you? She takes things wrong."

He held up his hands. "Settle down. She wasn't talking about herself. She's not interested in me, you idiot. Don't you see what's happening? She's interested in you. Only you. If you're not careful, you're the one who'll hurt her." Wick pushed his hands through his hair, annoyed and exasperated with Bellamy, with the whole fucking thing. Bellamy could be as stubborn as a mule sometimes.

Those words stabbed like a hot poker because they were already true. But as hard as Bellamy had tried to make things right, he couldn't bring her around. And how could he if she wouldn't come home? That's what he needed. Her. Here. Where he could explain how he cared about her, but how wrong he was for her. But he couldn't do that without telling her he knew she was Lark Griffin. His snooping would hurt her even more. No, he wanted her to trust him enough to let him in on her secrets.

"I know. And I'm trying not to, but it isn't working out so well." He considered telling Wick everything he knew about her, but decided against it. Going behind her back would be a mistake. "I'm just… no good for her." He sighed, defeated.

Wick groaned, wondering how Bellamy could be so intelligent, but also such a fucking idiot sometimes. "It's not about what you think she deserves. It's not your decision. She gets to decide what she deserves." He scrubbed his hands over his face. "I'm only going to say this once. You deserve some semblance of happiness, and if you think she can make you happy, then you should stop being an idiot now and just talk to her."

* * *

Bellamy and Wick spent most of the morning sitting on the back porch reminiscing about visiting Charamel. Just before noon, Octavia showed up.

Bellamy laughed. "It's about time you made an appearance. We thought you might've stabbed yourself with an eye pencil and bled out."

Octavia rolled her eyes, plopping down onto a faded wicker chair. "I was on Skype with Lincoln for a while. And then Harper called."

"You got plans with her tonight?"

"Yeah. Is that okay? I know I came to visit you, but..."

Bellamy cut her off. "It's fine, O. Hang out with your friends."

"Thanks."

"Hey," Wick said. "I guess if I wanted to stay longer, you'd be good with that?"

"Yeah. Do you?"

"Maybe until Wednesday."

"Works for me."

Once Octavia changed, she was ready for target practice, so the three of them drove to the back of the property. Bellamy hadn't been there since arriving in Arkadia. Dilapidated remnants of the deer stand he'd built years ago barely clung to an old oak tree. While his grandpa looked over his shoulder, Bellamy had killed his first buck from there. It's the only one he ever shot. Somehow, seeing the beautiful animal lying dead turned him against the sport.

He still hunted ducks, quail, and squirrels, but couldn't bear the thought of killing another deer. He'd gotten the Remington 243 for his thirteenth birthday. Damn, it'd been fifteen years. A lifetime ago.

Old hay rounds lined the back fence, perfect for mounting targets. Bellamy parked the truck, and Octavia got out first, followed by Wick. "I have the paper targets. Ordered just for us." He passed them to Wick.

He unrolled the package and laughed. "You've got to be kidding. Zombies?"

Octavia cocked her head. "The apocalypse can happen anytime. Besides, the two of you did serious damage to my psyche with all those movies. But I'll be prepared, and probably save both your asses."

Bellamy belly laughed. "I'd forgotten how funny that was."

"Funny, my ass. You tied me to a chair and forced me to watch a trifecta of horror."

"What were they?"

"Oh, I'll never forget. Shaun of the Dead, Land of the Dead, and Dawn of the Dead. I didn't sleep for weeks."

Wick pinched her cheek. "Poor baby."

Octavia slapped his hand away. "Just put up the damn targets, and let me show you two how it's done." She unzipped the gun case and pulled out her weapon.

"Let me see that," Bellamy said. "Looks a little pathetic up beside my Smith and Wesson."

"I have you know the Sig Sauer Mosquito is the most popular twenty-two on the market right now."

Wick stepped forward and hoisted his pistol in the air. "Maybe so, but you can't go wrong with a Ruger."

Wick took the sheets and Bellamy grabbed a bag of cans and put them in place, then joined Octavia again, who was stretching her arms and popping her fingers.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Octavia glared at Wick. "Loosening up."

"To pull a trigger? We're doing target practice, not running a marathon."

Bellamy couldn't remember when he'd enjoyed an afternoon more, just listening to Octavia and Wick bicker. When Wick said they might stay longer, Bellamy had secretly wished they'd stay forever. There was plenty of land to build on. Octavia could open a small private practice in Breaux Bridge and Wick could probably get a job at a local university.

God, he'd missed them. So damn much. They'd visited him in prison, alternating months, and that's all that had kept him going. And Charamel. She'd written every week and for the first year rode the bus to visit. After that, he'd asked her stop because the eight hour round trip was too much. Plus, he hated she had to see him in that place.

By five o'clock, Wick and Octavia conceded to Bellamy. He'd always been a good shot, but he'd not practiced in years, so winning surprised him. As they came to the edge of the woods, he looked at Wick.

"I'll take Octavia home so she can get ready for her girls night. Why don't you get out and swing by to check on Clarke?"

She was probably okay, but Bellamy couldn't help himself. He needed to make sure and figured she'd rather see Wick.

"Will do."

Bellamy brought the truck to a halt. Wick climbed out and headed toward Raven's.

* * *

Clarke had just finished spreading fresh hay for her nightly bed when a shadow passed through the light beaming across the opening. She whirled around. Crassus barked.

Wick stood in the doorway. "Hey."

"What are you doing?"

"Just wanted to check on you. You doing all right?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

He grinned. "No reason. But you're here all by your lonesome, so something could happen. Did you hear all that shooting?"

"Yeah. Bellamy texted earlier to warn me."

Wick shook his head. "Damn thoughtful of him, don't you think?"

She propped the pitchfork against the wall. "Yes."

"He's actually the one who sent me. He wants you to come back to the house."

"Did he say that?"

"Well, not exactly in those words, but he does. You don't have to wait for Raven to return. You can still milk the goats. Like I said before, I'll even help you."

"No. I don't think so."

"Come on, Clarke. He's pretty miserable without you there. What do you say?"

She turned to look at him. "I'm never going back to Charamel's. On Monday, I'm leaving Arkadia."

* * *

Sorry, for the cliffy. Not really, though. I totally love torturing you all. ANYWAY, thank you all who have read and commented on this story.

ALSO, how did you all feel about that trailer nuzzle? I might have died a little. Especially since everyone was yelling at Clarke and everything was so tense and Bellamy was the only one to offer her comfort rather than yelling at her.

Hope you all have a happy holiday and expect a new chappy Tuesday after Christmas.


	13. Chapter 13

**Warning: smut full speed ahead.**

* * *

Wick trailed the oak branch in the dirt stopping now and again to whack at the weeds growing next to the ruts. Dammit to hell. She'd confided in him and he couldn't tell Bellamy. She wouldn't ever trust him again.

No doubt when his stepbrother found out, he'd never speak to him again. Bellamy could hold a grudge better than most. But considering all he'd been through, and the people in his life who'd disappointed him, Wick couldn't blame him. He just didn't want to be added to that list.

His reason for staying extra days wasn't a lie. He needed to get his head straight about Ontari, but more than that, he wanted to see Raven. She was the one girl he'd never been able to forget, and for months, he'd thought more and more about her.

The way her skin looked in the moonlight. How she'd fit perfectly against him. The sound of his name on her lips. Oh God, how he'd loved that. No woman had ever said it the same way. Not even Ontari, and she claimed to love him. And he'd thought he loved her. But the closer the wedding got, the more he felt like her puppet instead of her equal.

Octavia was right. She planned every moment of Wick's life. Dictated when he could spend time with friends. Demanded his attention to things that didn't matter. He'd realized what a mistake he was making. The only thing to do now, was end it.

Career suicide for sure. At least in Baton Rouge. But that'd been part of the problem. He'd gotten so caught up in her fancy life, he'd lost himself.

If he didn't have over two-hundred thousand dollars in student loans, he could branch off on his own.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and turned it on. By now, Ontari was pissed because she'd not been able to get in touch with him. But he got tired of hearing the damn thing chime knowing she'd sent him some selfie with her uppity friends. All spoiled little rich girls.

Shouldn't think that way because he was no better. He'd promised his soul to be a part of that world, but he'd finally come to his senses. No need to put it off any longer. He palmed his phone. Time for a little face time with his betrothed.

By the time he got back to the house, he'd finished his call with Ontari. Things turned out better than expected. She'd flown to Vegas for a girls' weekend. Not unusual. On short notice, she dropped everything to fly to New York, Paris, wherever her sorority sisters wanted. He doubted she'd ever find it necessary to use her degree in English, but hey, a degree is a degree if that's all a person wanted.

Ontari wasn't dumb, just unmotivated. No reason to be. She'd had everything given to her. Her goal in life was to look good and appear in the society pages at least once a week. And she was successful at those things.

Bellamy waited on the front porch. "Took you long enough."

"Sorry, I stopped to call Ontari about staying longer."

"How'd that go?"

Wick tilted his head. "Better than I hoped."

"So, how was Clarke?"

"She's doing fine. Her, the dog, and the goats. Look, you should go over there and talk to her. Fix whatever the problem is between you."

"Why? Did she say something?" He tried to feign nonchalance, as if he really didn't care, but he was sure Wick could see right through him.

Damn. Wick wanted to tell him she was about to be gone out of his life for good. But he couldn't. All he could do was encourage him and hoped it took. "No. But she doesn't seem the type to make the first move, so you should."

"Oh, take my word, she can make the first move when she wants. Besides, I've already tried to reason with her. She'll be back on Monday and then we'll hash it out."

No she won't. "I see my truck's gone, so I guess Octavia's left already."

"Yeah. She hightailed it out of here pretty quick, something about too much testosterone in this house. You still want to go to the steak house?"

"Sure, if you do. I think there's rain in the forecast, so we should leave soon."

* * *

Wells Jaha rolled off Keenan and gasped for air. It'd been too long since he'd had sex but damn if it wasn't just as good as he remembered.

She ran her palm across his chest. "You okay?"

He laid his hand on top of hers. "Better than okay. You?"

"I'm downright giddy."

"Good to know I haven't lost my touch."

"Well, I don't have a before and after comparison, but based on this one performance, I'd give you a gold star."

She giggled and Wells loved the sound. He needed a woman with patience in case his execution took longer than normal. Thankfully, it had not. Turned out, the thought of making love with Keenan caused everything to work like he was a twenty again.

"I have a confession."

"Oh no. That's four words a woman never wants to hear right after sex."

He chuckled. "Nothing bad. It's been awhile since I've slept with anyone, so I was nervous. Crazy, huh? At my age, you'd think I'd have the bedroom stuff down."

"Take my word, you have it down." She laughed again.

Damn, he liked this woman. A lot. And he sure as hell didn't want this to be a onetime thing. "I like you, Keenan, and I don't want you to stop seeing me because of this Griffin case."

She sat up and propped the pillow behind her back, then pulled the sheet up to cover her breasts.

"You've found her, haven't you?"

He sat up, too, and took her hands in his. He could see it, how much she cared for the girl. Clearly, she had been more than just a housekeeper. A maternal figure, maybe, a friend, trying to protect Lark from the likes of Diana. "I think so." What came next caught him off guard.

Keenan burst into tears. "You're going to ruin her life."

He pulled her to him and spoke into her hair. Thick, red, and smelled so damn good it made him dizzy. "No. I'm not. I promise I'm going to help the kid all I can, yet still do my job."

She looked up at him that luscious bottom lip quivering. "You swear?"

He couldn't stand it any longer so he took her mouth. And when she pulled away, he groaned. "Baby, I swear. You've got to trust me on this."

"How'd you find her?"

"Been monitoring the reward website. Somebody from Arkadia, Louisiana did a search. The IP address belongs to an old woman. With everything I've learned about the girl, it seems logical. You agree?"

"What do you mean?"

"Hiding out with an old woman in some backwoods town, close enough to be virtually invisible to Diana. That'd be the last place someone would look, right?"

"Have you told Diana?"

"No, and I won't until I'm sure. I'm going down there next week."

"And if she's there? What happens next?"

"I'll send my report to Mrs. Griffin, but who knows, by the time she gets it, the girl could be gone again."

* * *

By the time Bellamy and Wick finished dinner, ran by Target, and left Breaux Bridge, it was almost eleven o'clock. Wick had been quiet during dinner, and Bellamy figured it had to do with his brother's soon to be ex-fiancé. Even though Bellamy had never met her, he was glad Wick decided to break it off. Earlier, he'd explained if he ever wanted to work again without her family ruining him, he had to come up with a way to make her think ending the engagement was her idea. Wasn't sure how he'd go about that, but he was brainstorming.

Bellamy suggested that he put his foot down about the ex-con being included in the wedding party. So far, that had been the best plan, but Wick wasn't sure it'd be enough. No doubt she'd throw a fit but to save face, she'd probably agree.

There'd been something else, too. Wick had insisted buying a new computer and small television. Bellamy pointed out those were things he could get at home, but he wouldn't hear to it.

After parking in the garage, he helped Wick unload the boxes. Once inside the house, Wick headed to Clarke's bedroom where he'd been sleeping.

Bellamy called after him. "Hey, no need to take the stuff in there. It'll be easier to load in your truck from here."

Wick answered over this shoulder. "No, there's plenty of room in the closet. It's empty except for my clothes."

Bellamy set the TV on the kitchen counter and sprinted down the hall. "What you mean? Clarke has her stuff in there."

Wick slid the box across the carpet. "Nope. As you can see. Plenty of room."

Bellamy rushed to the bathroom and opened the cabinets. Empty. He rejoined Wick and stared at the blank closet, then scratched his head. "I don't get it. She's only staying at Raven's until Monday. Why would she take everything?"

"Beats me. Guess you'll have to ask her."

Bellamy slumped down onto the bed. "She's not coming back."

Wick turned to face him. "That can't be right. Can it?"

He didn't answer. Just sat there, frozen. His jaw locked. She wouldn't just up and leave, would she? How far would she go, to Raven's across the field, or out of Arkadia entirely?

She wouldn't, not without saying goodbye. Would she?

"Bellamy?"

He rose and stuck his hands in his pockets, shoving the overwhelming sense of nausea away. "Hell, if she wants to leave, fine. I don't care."

He didn't mean it, and Wick knew it. Bellamy's defense mechanism was always to pretend he was okay, that no one could hurt him.

"Yeah, I can tell you don't."

He sat again and covered his face with his hands. "I slept with her. I thought it was recreational. She didn't."

Wick sat, too. "Damn. We're a pair aren't we? I'm trying to get rid of my woman and you're trying to get yours to stay. You'd think we could fix each other's problem. Don't know about you, but I don't have a clue."

Bellamy took a deep breath. "Guess we should ask O. She's the only one of all of us that seems to have her shit together." Octavia was braver than the two of them put together, and it showed. She was a force of nature and life wouldn't dare not work out for her.

At one o'clock the next morning, Bellamy still wasn't asleep. Outside, a storm brewed. Low rumbles moved closer. But it wasn't the weather keeping him awake. It was Clarke and the fact she'd taken all her belongings. He'd had enough of this dancing back and forth thing they'd been doing. He wasn't about to let her run from her problems, from him.

He vaulted from the bed, jerked his jeans on, then his tee-shirt. He wondered if she was scared in the barn at Raven's, all by herself, what with the storm brewing ferociously outside, branches slapping at the windowpanes. He took time to brush his teeth, then slipped his feet into his boots, and grabbed his truck keys on the way out of the door. If she wanted to leave, she could, there's nothing he could do to stop her - but not until they settled things.

In ten minutes, he was in Raven's drive. There weren't any lights on in the house and none in her garage where he knew she liked to work on engines and everything else under a hood, but a dim glow came from the barn. He bumped his door open and headed that way as the drizzle turned to a down pour.

* * *

Thunder had Clarke hunkered down in the corner of the stall, clutching Crassus so tight the dog gasped for air. There'd been a flash of light and she wasn't sure if it was lightning or someone in the drive. Either way, she wasn't budging. She'd turned on the battery operated lantern. That way, the storm wasn't so scary. Thoughts of Bellamy pushed its way to the forefront of her mind, of him holding her and like the last time, existing in the same space.

As if her imagination conjured him, the barn door flew open and Bellamy filled the space. He wasn't tall by conventional standards, but he could fill up a room with his presence. Breath caught in the back of Clarke's throat. She tried to speak but her words came out shaky. "What are you doing here?"

In three long strides he was in the stall looming over her. His jaw ticked. "You've punished me enough, Clarke. It's time to come home."

She ignored the gruffness in his voice and hugged Crassus tighter. "I told you..."

He pointed his finger at her. "Don't talk. Just listen. I've done the wrong thing and I've said the wrong thing, but I'm here now to do and say the right things." He took a shaky breath, his voice pleading, "I want you to come home. I miss you. I want you to stop being mad at me. I don't like you laughing and dancing with Wick. I sure as hell don't want you running your fingers through his hair. I'm not good for you," he ran his hands through his already messy hair, until the ends stuck straight and his voice hitched, like his own words pained him. "But you've got your whole life to find the perfect guy. Right now, you want me and I want you, so we'll go with that. You understand?"

She wanted to say something, argue with him, but she didn't have the fight in her to voice herself raw that she knew without a doubt in her mind, he was it for her.

His eyes were dark and dilated and she knew he meant business. She wasn't about to argue. Besides, he'd finally said most of what she'd wanted to hear so she'd settle for that. She eased her grip on Crassus and he ran from the stall.

"Clarke? You can talk now. You still want me, right?" His voice was raw, as if he were asking her something he had confirmed himself to be true. Maybe she didn't want him, maybe he waited too long.

She struggled to find her voice, but that was impossible because her heart was lodged in her throat. All these years, he'd had it ingrained in him that he was not enough, that he'd never be enough, some broken shell of a person that didn't quite fit whole. Unable to find her words, she gave him a look that she hopes translates that his question is stupid.

He dropped to his knees and hauled her against him. "I've already brushed my teeth." Then he kissed her long and deep. And she kissed him back, tugging on his shirt and his hair, trying to bring him closer and closer still. He pulled back, dazed; stared at her. "Ground rules."

Still unable to put a sentence together, she nodded.

"We're not rushing this time. You got that?"

Another nod.

He dipped his head and pressed his mouth to hers again. One hand slid around her waist, the other to her belly, then lower into her panties where he srtoked her. "Jesus, Clarke. Already so wet."

Thunder rumbled overhead and rain hammered the roof. She feels safe in his arms, like the storm outside couldn't hurt her. She ran her hands under his shirt, feeling muscle and bone. "Your clothes are wet. Take them off."

"You do it."

She followed directions, then unbuttoned his jeans. He stood, toed out of his boots and let the Levi's drop to the floor.

She gasped. He'd gone commando and already had an erection. He was as magnificent as the bronze warriors she'd seen at the Museo Nazionale della Magna Grecia in Italy when she was nine. He dropped to his knees and lifted her onto his lap. She clutched his shoulders for support. Her skin caught fire. Her nipples tightened, from the chilled air, or the sight of him, she wasn't sure. She pushed away.

"What's wrong?"

She scrambled to her knees, grabbed the hem of her nightshirt and tore it off, then ran her hand around his neck and brought his lips to her breast. He drew one peaked nipple into his mouth and she shivered. Her hands reach to slide her underwear off, but his hands covered hers, stilled her movements. "Let me," he murmured against her skin, his hands gentle over hers, and urging her, slides the material off her hips. He leans back, his gaze dark as he drinks her in, lingering. He'd never seen anything so beautiful, he thought. Clarke whines in the back of her throat, impatient, and he grins in response.

With perfect precision, he moved his hands to the back of her thighs, opened her stance, and slipped a finger inside her. Then two.

"Oh, Clarke. You're so wet for me."

And she was. It'd be different this time. She wasn't a virgin anymore, and she had one encounter under her belt. At least she knew a little about what to expect. No man had ever talked to her like this, and the rasp of his voice made her blood heat. And as it raced through her veins, it set every part of her on fire. She rocked against him, backing away to get his fingers in the right spot, and when she did, a whimper escaped her before she could stop it. He worked her. In and out. Around and around, driving her to madness. And when the orgasm hit with such force, she panted his name. "Bellamy. Bellamy. Bellamy. Bellamy."

He started to withdraw, but she put her hand over his and held him in place. "Not yet." She moved against him again, and within seconds another climax shook her to her core. Harder this time, she buried her face in the hollow of his neck and sobbed.

"Oh, shit. Clarke. What's wrong?" His arms wind around her tighter, tugging her close to his warm chest.

"Nothing. I don't know why I'm crying. I'm sorry."

He eased her onto the hay and lay next to her, taking her mouth again. "It's okay. I imagine back-to-back orgasms can do that to a girl." Then he chuckled. A low mellow tone that caused her toes to curl and raised goose bumps everywhere.

"Now, where were we?" He rolled to all fours and hovered above her, then ran his tongue between her breasts. This had to be a dream, but when he scraped his teeth over her skin, she squealed. Not a dream.

Next he trailed his lips down to her stomach where he flicked the silver heart dangling from her bellybutton back and forth with his tongue. He had noticed the silver before, but had been too preoccupied with her wrapped around him to think of anything else. "Sexy."

"Thank you," she answered plainly.

He laughed out loud, his hot breath spreading across her skin, then he went lower gently pressing kisses against her skin, biting at the flesh of her hips.

She went perfectly still. The thought of his head between her legs again turned her bones to ash. And then he hit home with his first stroke. She dug both hands into the hay and lost herself to the passion. Everything faded away except the roaring in her head. She writhed against him feeling every delicious lash. Over and over again until she came undone.

He kissed his way back up her body and stared down at her. "Now, let's hear you use that in a sentence."

She drew a shallow breath.

"Come on. You're about to get the main event, but not until I hear a sentence. So make it a good one."

Her whole body shook, and she thought she was on the verge of a heart attack. But if she had to die, she wanted it to be in his arms. "Okay. Bellamy is good at cunnilingus."

She loved how his mouth quirked up at the corner when he fought a smile. "Not your best work, but I'll give you a pass."

"Thank you."

He nudged her legs apart with his knee and leaned low for kiss. He opened for her and the dirty dance of his tongue made her think of where it'd been and the pleasure it'd caused. She licked inside his mouth and when they parted, he whispered a laugh. "Open your eyes." And then he slid inside her. A little at first, then more.

Before he moved again, he raised his brows as if to ask if she was okay. She bit her bottom lip. "More, please."

There was that wicked grin. "Oh, baby. So polite."

Then he gave her more, and she responded by coiling her legs around his waist to bring him closer. Deeper. Her eyes locked on his, she heaved the words out. "More. I want more. Give me more."

"You feel so fucking good, Clarke. So fucking good."

She shivered in response, digging her heels tighter against his ass. He thrust harder.

Her gaze never wavering, she dug fingers into his hips and bucked against him. "All of it. I want all of it, please."

A low growl came from deep in his throat. "I haven't stopped thinking about you, Clarke. Not for one minute. I've wanted you wrapped around my cock."

The way his voice sounded made her dizzy with desire. The sight of him rendered her senseless. Nothing mattered. Only him. Moist flesh against hers. Big hands moving over her.

He cupped her hips, tilted them until he stroked high into her. How did he already know how her body worked? He pressed, and she arched. He gave and she took. And when she couldn't stand it anymore, she shattered, locking her legs around him until he emptied into her.

They stayed that way, fused together, for a long time, their bodies jerking with aftershocks. Finally, Bellamy rolled to his side, bringing Clarke with him. All doubt...gone. She loved him. More than she'd ever loved anyone. Now her only problem was how to get him to love her back.


	14. Chapter 14

For the first time in a while, Bellamy woke with a smile on his face. Last night all his bullshit about cuddling had been blown to hell when he'd wanted Clarke pinned right next to him. He loved feeling the rhythm of her breathing against his chest. More than that, he loved how she begged. And she had. Four…no, five times. A record for him. And every time was better than the last. He was getting hard just thinking about it.

Barn. Hay. Storm. First time he'd had that combination. Hell, screenwriters couldn't have written a more perfect scene. A few stalls over, she hummed as she worked. The sounds of a satisfied lover. And she had been, multiple times.

Today, she'd come home with him and forget all about leaving. And she understood the arrangement. Just sex. No strings. No promises. Someday, she'd find Mr. Right and forget all about him. He knew better than to think a girl like her would ever end up with a guy like him.

He rolled over and looked around for his clothes, then chuckled. There they were neatly folded and stacked. He got dressed then went to join her. Busy with the goats, she didn't notice him, so he cleared his throat.

"Need some help?"

She turned to face him. All bright eyed and glowing. Damn if she hadn't gotten more beautiful overnight. "Do you know how to milk goats?"

"Never done it, but how hard can it be? All I do is wrap my fingers around a teat and squeeze, right?"

She took her bottom lip between her teeth. "You even make that sound nasty."

He whispered a laugh. "Not my intention, but I can see it got you going." He raised his brows as he zeroed in on the front of her tee-shirt, where her nipples stood at attention.

Crossing her arms, she covered both breasts with her hands. "You're terrible."

In two shorts strides, he had her in his arms. "That's not what you said last night. I remember you telling me how good I was. A lot."

She looked up at him. "You were good. A lot."

"I want to kiss you."

"Okay."

"Haven't brushed my teeth."

"One little kiss probably won't hurt."

She tiptoed to reach his mouth and kissed him like she meant it. Then her hands were everywhere. Under his shirt. At the top of his jeans. Lowering his zipper. And when she slipped her hand inside his boxers and wrapped her fingers around his erection, he groaned. God help him. She was going to kill him.

He abandoned her mouth trailed his lips to her breast and tortured the nipple through the thin fabric. He'd never wanted any woman the way he wanted her, and that was wrong. But with her wrapped around him, he couldn't wrap his brain around logic.

Within minutes, he had her naked, back in the hay going at him like a wild animal. And once he delivered what she wanted, he twisted her beneath him, and just like always, she welcomed him inside her small body. Arching to meet him. Lips demanding more. Legs coiled to bring him deeper. And when he climaxed, he knew she'd tighten her legs to keep him inside her as long as possible. It happened every time, and when he broke the connection, she whimpered like he'd taken part of her with him.

He fell back onto the hay gasping for breath. "You're going home with me today." It sounded like a command even to his ears.

"Okay."

He breathed a sigh of relief. He rolled to his elbow and trailed a finger down her cheek.

He pulled her close. "Tell me."

Her warm breath floated across his chest. "What?"

"Everything. What you're running from. Who's after you? All of it. Whatever it is, I'll protect you."

At first, he didn't think she would say anything. But then she drew a ragged breath and began. When she finished, he lay quiet for a moment dealing with the part that bothered him most. Finally, he spoke. "So, in eight months when you turn twenty-five, you're going back to Baton Rouge."

"Yes. I have to. Aunt Becca wants to retire; she's only done it this long because my dad asked her too. So even if I don't want to run the company, I'll have to pick someone to take over."

"Can you do it? I mean, it's a big job and you…"

"I know what you're thinking. I'm young."

"No, that's not it. You don't have experience is what I meant."

"Dad and I talked about this before he died. You're right. I lack the skills to do it on my own, but I'm smart enough to hire people who can help me. It's my dad's company. His dying wish and I promised. I don't have a choice."

One thing she'd omitted in her story was the can of cash he'd found in her room. Wasn't sure why. Maybe she didn't completely trust him or figured he already knew. Either way, he'd heard the fear in her voice. Running a company was the last thing she wanted, but she was right. Her dad had built it from the ground up, and he'd want her involved. He shifted the conversation. "I don't think I've ever slept with an heiress before."

Her brows scrunched together. "That's what I am, isn't it? An heiress. Sounds funny."

"You mean you've never thought of yourself that way?"

"No."

"Guess that comes from always having money." It sounded harsher than he'd meant it too, and he winced.

She had a strange look in her eye, but said nothing. Bellamy wondered what was going on in her head. With her, he couldn't always tell, so he dropped it and moved on. "Earlier, why were you drawing me?"

"I thought you were asleep."

"Dozing."

"Oh. Well, I like taking drawing you."

"Naked?"

"Yes."

"Why? My sketched ass isn't going to show up on the internet, is it?"

She rolled her eyes. "No. I'm an artist. I appreciate the beauty of a man's body. Or a woman's. They're just for me. Nobody else will see them."

He sat up and stretched. "Well, we'd better take care of these goats and get you home." Busy work. He needed it, because when she'd told him that in eight months she'd leave, something had twisted in his gut. Come this time next year, she'd be back in her world of money and power, and he'd still be in Arkadia. Without her.

* * *

Clarke heard it in Bellamy's voice when he'd said the word heiress, and again when he drew the conclusion about her always having money. Somehow, he thought less of himself because of it. He had no reason. It was true she'd never struggled financially, but money didn't mean anything to her. Even with a big bank account, Dad had taught her not to flaunt her affluence. He'd set a good example by giving much of his wealth away and she'd continue his legacy.

She hated the company was located in the one place Bellamy never wanted to live. Because of that, she saw no future for them. She fantasized about having one, but in her heart, she knew it was stupid. He'd made it clear Arkadia would always be his home. She'd make it hers too, if he asked. She'd hire people to keep Griffin Steel going, and she'd chair the board. She had a private plane at her disposal and could fly back and forth.

God, she sounded like the characters on every cheesy soap opera Keenan had watched. Stupid girl willing to give everything up for the man she loved. Big mistake. In soaps and life. She shook the ridiculous notion away, returned the chippy stool to the counter, and wrote the date on the milk container before sliding it into the cooler.

Outside, Bellamy threw a stick and tried to get Crassus to fetch. He wasn't having much luck. The dog kept rolling over wanting his belly rubbed. Clarke couldn't help but laugh. She knew exactly how he felt. When she was with Bellamy, all she wanted was to roll around, too. Preferably, naked with him. It was all she thought about.

Bellamy appeared in the doorway. "You ready to go?"

"Am I a sex maniac?"

He bent with laughter, holding his sides.

"Not funny. There's something wrong with me. It's all I think about and that can't be normal." She slumped onto a chair. "I've always been weird, and now I'm perverted, too."

'It's completely normal. Nothings wrong with you," he told her gently. She didn't look convinced, and instead adopted an expression Octavia always tried to use as a kid to get her way. Bellamy tried to straighten, but it was no use. The way she came out of left field with shit always caused him to crack up. Coupled with her pouty, indignant expression, he couldn't help himself.

"Stop it. This is your fault."

He struggled for breath, crossed the room, pulled her into his arms and got control. "You're fucking adorable. That's what you are." Then he tilted her chin until she looked at him. "Everybody goes a little nuts when they have great sex. Trust me, you're as normal as it gets in that department."

"Are you sure?"

"Definitely."

* * *

Wick waited until Clarke left for work before he came from his room. Last night, he'd told Bellamy and Octavia not to say anything to her about extending their visit. From the way she'd acted when he asked about Raven, he got the idea Clarke knew about the summer fling he and Raven had years ago. The word stopped him. Was that all it had been? No. It'd been much more, but the timing had been wrong.

He'd had a full scholarship and a long distance relationship wasn't feasible. The thing he regretted most was he'd not explained that. But he'd tried. Every time he'd visited Arkadia, but somehow Raven was always out of town. He thought for sure he'd see her at Charamel's funeral, but again, she'd been a no-show. She probably hated him and he couldn't blame her. Back then, he'd not had enough experience to handle the situation, but he did now, and hoped to make things right.

He smiled. Funny how'd he'd accepted that in the last few days. Bellamy had assured him it would all work out. He hoped his step brother was right, but given his own track record, it might take a while. Bellamy's life was finally good, but he'd gone through hell to get here. Wick would like to avoid that route if possible.

A bee buzzed around his head and brought him back to the route he was currently following. Even as a boy, walking through these woods calmed him. The cool morning air. Sunlight winking through the trees. The sounds of the forest. Man, how he wished to go back to those carefree days if only for a little while.

His social calendar, planned by Ontari, exhausted him. Last month, he'd attended opening night of the ballet, an animal lovers' black-tie event, student museum fashion show, cancer foundation fundraiser, along with ten other worthy causes. The more he got involved, the more he realized he didn't belong in her circle.

Raven's workshop came into view. He'd played this scene out in his head a thousand times, but now his stomach knotted. Who was he kidding? With her beauty and fiery spirit, she'd probably had a dozen lovers since him. No way would she'd still be carrying a torch or a grudge.

He swung the door wide. She looked up, and her breath caught. The same sound she'd always made years ago, right before she came apart in his arms. God. She was even more beautiful than he remembered.

"Hey, Raven." He had hoped for nonchalant, but came out as a pre-pubescent squeak.

"Wick. What are you doing here?" She wouldn't meet his eye, determined to appear as unaffected as she sounded, despite the sound of rushing water in her ears.

She was busy mixing something in a bowl. Bottles of different sizes lined the counter. Since Clarke had mentioned a goat milk venture, he figured they had to do with that. The place smelled like lavender and something else. Coconut. Not the Raven he'd remembered, who was always covered in grease and smelled like gasoline. From what he heard, the soap thing was to raise money for her own garage. It irked him girls like Raven worked every day of their lives for something they wanted, all fire and clenched teeth to get ahead, whereas Ontari and her ilk had everything handed to them and worked for nothing. "Octavia and I came to visit Bellamy."

Her eyes darkened, and she swallowed hard. "I know that. I meant what are you doing here?"

The tone of her voice warned him he wasn't welcome. But he couldn't let that change his plans. "I wanted to see you."

"After all these years? Why?"

He swallowed. This was harder than he imagined. "Lately, I've been thinking about you, and I…"

She cut him off. "Why in the world would you do that when you thought so little of me before?"

She was right; it sounded lame even to his own ears. He advanced on her and she held her ground. No longer a fragile, innocent girl, she glared at him. Maybe he wasn't the only guy who'd hurt her. "That isn't true. I've always thought about you."

She stopped mixing and held the spatula in midair. "What do you want from me, Wick? Forgiveness? Absolution? Letting me believe I meant something to you? Breaking my heart?" She dropped the spatula, pushed her hand in front of him, and made the sign of the cross. Definitely not Raven, who treated religion like a bad taste in her mouth, even though every Sunday when they were kids, she had always sat in the third row from the pew with her parents. "You're absolved. Go on with your life."

He reached out to take her hand, but she backed away.

"You did mean something to me." His voice broke, and he swallowed, trying to conjure up sufficient words. Falling short.

That got a humorless laugh from her. "Once a liar, always a liar. You should leave. I have someone in my life now and if he finds you here, I'll have to explain more than I want." She turned her back to Wick and moved pans around on the shelf.

Albeit defeated, he plowed on. "Well, if you're so in love, why are you still pissed at me? What happened between us shouldn't matter anymore."

She spun on him, tears flowed down her cheeks. "I loved you! You were my first love! My first everything! A girl never gets over that." She swiped at her nose, then covered her face with her hands.

Wick rushed around the counter and took her in his arms.

She shoved him, glaring up at him like a vengeful goddess with ice in her eyes. "Oh, I understand. Thought you'd get a little stray before you tie the knot? And who else better than me, right? The poor ones are always so easy."

He crossed his arms. "That's not fair. I never thought of you that way. What did you want from me? I was eighteen years old." God, he'd said it like that fixed everything but from the way she was shaking with rage, it didn't.

"What'd I want? A phone call. Text. Letter. Anything that made me feel like I mattered. I waited, Wick. Weeks. Months. You used me and then pretended it never happened."

He took another step forward, but she backed away again. To fight the urge to hold her, he put his hands in his pockets. "You mattered. It's just I was in Baton Rouge. You were here. Living five hours away, I didn't see how we could…"

"How we could what? Keep screwing? Yeah, you're right. That was impossible which made it clear that's all you wanted from me. Do you get the picture now? You made me feel like nothing more than a good time." Her eyes were glassy, but her voice unwavering. It had always been easy, her eyes always gave away her emotions, even when her voice was full of anger.

He couldn't fight it any longer. He pulled his hands from his pockets and wrapped her in his arms. The memory of her beneath him flooded back with such force, he thought his heart would explode. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She broke free and glared at him with so much hate in her eyes now, he staggered backwards. Her words dripped with venom. "Go home, Wick. There's nothing for you here." She pushed past him and slammed the door behind her.

He stood frozen trying to decide what his next move should be. This wasn't going the way he expected. God, he'd hurt her more than he thought. She was right. He'd not spoken to her after he left that summer. But what good would it have done? They couldn't see each other and he couldn't ask her to wait for him. He didn't get it. Why would she still be so angry after all this time?

Heaving a deep breath, he stepped out into the sunshine and headed home, kicking the dirt as he went. When he got back to the farmhouse, he found Bellamy in the laundry room.

"Where'd you run off to so early?" Nonchalant, as if he really didn't care, but Wick knew better.

"Raven's." He shrugged, passive.

Bellamy's eyebrows shot into is hairline. "Really?"

"Yeah. A long time ago, she and I had a thing."

Bellamy finished stuffing the clothes in the washer, added the detergent and closed the lid. "No shit. Where was I when this thing was going on?"

"It was the summer your trouble started."

"She have anything to do with your change of heart about Ontari?"

Wick raked his hands through his hair. "Didn't think so until today. Now, I'm not so sure. Doesn't matter. She made it pretty clear she hates my guts."

"Why?"

"After I left, I never called her."

"So, you're just saying to hell with it?"

"I guess. What I don't understand is why she's still mad. She's serious about some guy, so what went on between us shouldn't matter."

"I thought you were leaving today." Clarke said from behind them.

"Decided to stay a little longer."

Bellamy straightened. Wick wondered if either of them realized how they gravitated toward another when inhabiting the same space. "Hey, what are doing home so early?"

"No bodies."

Wick eyed her, then moved away from the door.

Bellamy walked to stand next to her and spoke to Wick again. "I don't think Raven's serious about the guy. She told me he'd proposed, but she'd not accepted. Unless you saw an engagement ring, she still hasn't, and that's been weeks ago."

Wick glanced at Bellamy, then back at Clarke. "Well, why did she say that?"

Clarke swallowed hard. "I don't know."

Wick narrowed his gaze. "I think you do. So what's up?"

She fiddled with her hair, pushing a curly strand behind her ear. "Maybe to get rid of you."

Bellamy nodded. "Makes sense. If you think she's involved no need for you to see her again."

"I probably shouldn't anyway."

"No!"

Wick jerked his head toward Clarke's outburst. "Why not?"

She shrugged. "I mean, if you like her, you shouldn't give up."

He wasn't convinced, and eyed her with conviction. She knew more than she was letting on.

"I appreciate the encouragement, but she said she never wanted to see me again. Practically threw me out. Can't go back now, anyway. She was going to work."

"You should go there. To her work. At the quick mart. If you're a customer, she can't make you leave. She works until midnight. Did you tell her you weren't getting married?"

"No. I was so shocked by her reaction to seeing me, I didn't really get the chance."

"You should tell her. And if you still like her, tell her that, too."

Before Wick could say anything else, Clarke turned and disappeared down the hall.

He looked at Bellamy. "What do you think?"

Bellamy's phone chimed. He read the text, then smiled at Wick. "I'm needed in the bedroom."

Wick shook his head. "You remember the lecture you gave me about hurting Clarke. You're on dangerous ground."

Bellamy laid his hand on Wick's shoulder. "There's a reason why they name hurricanes primarily after women. She understands our relationship. I made sure of that before I brought her back home." He strolled away.

Wick went out to the back porch and slumped onto the chaise and tried to sort things out in his head. It was stupid for Raven to be angry…unless…she still had feelings for him. She'd cried. Girls didn't cry over men they hated. They screamed. Cursed. Threw shit. Her reaction had been as if their thing had just ended. Hell, it'd been seven years. Maybe she'd gone crazy, and that's why she was still single – but it was Raven, throwing things and blowing up the science lab in high school was her thing, and it was endearing.

Whatever it was, he planned to find out.

Fishing keys out of his pocket, he quietly closed the door behind him and walked to his truck. Clarke was right. Raven couldn't kick out a paying customer, so that's what he'd be.

* * *

Even after an hour at work, Raven's stomach hurt. Why was Wick still here? And why did he come to see her? Stupid. He wanted one last fling before giving up his freedom. She took a deep breath. As much as she loved him, she'd never let that happen.

She should tell him about Tommy. But after what Clarke said about Ontari, Raven couldn't bring herself to do it. Not yet. She'd fantasized about Wick spending time with his son, but according to Clarke, his new wife would be against it. She'd hire a nanny to take care of Tommy, while she and Wick socialized. So what would be the point? Child support? Sure. She could get money out of him, but that wasn't important to her. She had been taking care of Tommy his entire life, she didn't need anyone else's help.

Who was she kidding? She'd dreamed of the three of them together. A family. She was stupid and needed to stop torturing herself. After how she'd treated Wick, he should be gone by now and her secret was safe for a while longer.

She turned her attention back to the candy rack she was refilling and thought of more logical things. Like contacting more businesses about her soap line. Another order had arrived from a boutique in New Orleans, so that was encouraging. The Facebook page was paying off. But she had to give credit to Clarke. The wrappers she'd designed were real eye-catchers.

Raven discarded the empty box and opened the next one. Since the festival was over the town was dead. If business continued to be slow, she'd get all the stocking done and time would fly. She loved when that happened. The doorbell buzzed and her dream was short-lived. She pushed the carton aside and called over her shoulder. "Come in."

The customer went down the next aisle so Raven tossed the empty box into the storeroom behind the register. When she turned around, Wick stood at the counter. He handed her a family-size bag of chips and a jar of salsa.

Her heart jumped into her throat, and she struggled to get the words out. "Will this be all for you, sir?"

"I believe so." He pulled his wallet from his back pocket.

She rang the sale and bagged it. "That'll be $7.33." Short, clipped, indignant.

He slid a ten-dollar bill to her.

Instead of handing him the change, she placed it on the counter. "Thank you."

He turned to go, then hesitated. "You know what? I should get something to drink with this."

He left the purchases, went to the refrigerated case and returned with a soda.

"Will this be all for you sir?" And there was that damn smile again. She'd almost forgotten how fucking infuriating he could be, especially when he had his mind set on something.

"I think so."

She put the money in the register. "Thanks."

Again, he started but stopped. He puckered his lips and cocked his head. "On second thought, I might want something sweet after I eat this." He disappeared around the corner and came back with two candy bars.

"Will this be all, sir?" She fixed him with a pointed stare, showing him just how annoying she found him.

"Not sure. Let me think a minute." He folded his arms across his chest, looked up, and tapped his foot.

Raven froze in place. She didn't need this aggravation. "Milk, bread, eggs?"

He shook his head.

"Cereal, butter, cheese?"

"No."

"Athlete's foot powder, hemorrhoid suppositories?"

That got a laugh from him, and God, how she'd always loved his laugh.

"Now, we're talking."

She fought a smile. "What does that mean?"

"It means we're talking, and that's what I want. For us to talk. Without anger. Without hate. Can we do that?"

"I never said I hated you." Her stomach growled, and she didn't know if it was from hunger or misery.

"Good to know because from our earlier conversation, I would have sworn you did."

"Well, I don't. So you can go home now." If she shoved the bag a bit too roughly into his arms, well.

"Okay." He gathered his bags and left.

Raven placed her hands on the counter and hung her head. No, Wick. I don't hate you. I hate myself because I'm still in love with you. She walked to the windows and found the parking lot empty. Thank God. Then she went back to work.

For the next few hours her mind ping-ponged between her soap business and Wick, with him winning most of the time. She wanted to hate him, but couldn't. It had taken every ounce of willpower not to jump over the counter, throw him to the floor, and rip off his clothes. She took a deep breath. She'd sunk to a new low. Lusting for a man about to be married, one who broke her heart. He belonged to someone else, and she needed to accept that.

Someday she'd tell him about Tommy, but not now. It'd be wrong to hit him with that news just months away from starting his life with Ontari. What kind of fucking name was that, anyway?

At eleven-thirty, the owner, Mr. Wallace showed up to help Raven close. She checked the register and took out the trash. When he came back inside, he joined her at the counter.

"Slow tonight, huh?"

She studied the detail tape, then wrapped it around the bundle of twenty-dollar bills. "Real slow. Only thirty-one customers all night."

"People are still recovering from the festival. It'll pick up again in a day or two. Why don't you go on home? I'll lock up."

"Okay. See you tomorrow night." Raven grabbed her purse from the back room, then headed to her car, parked behind the building. When she rounded the corner, Wick leaned against her fender. Her heart hammered.

"I noticed you have a flat, so thought I'd offer you a ride home."

She jerked her head toward the Chevy. Dad had been after her for months to get new tires. She should have listened. If it had been an engine problem, she could fix it herself. "That's okay. I'll call Harper."

"She and Octavia are out somewhere. Besides, I'm already here. Makes no sense to call someone. Just get in the truck. I'll have you home safe and sound in no time."

She heaved a deep breath, but only filled her lungs half-full. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why not?"

"It just isn't." She crossed her arms over her chest. He recognized her defensive stance when he saw it.

"Have it your way, then." He walked to his vehicle, tossing his keys in the air, whistling. He waited for the inevitable conclusion. Raven was as stubborn as a mule sometimes, but she was very, very impatient.

"Okay! You're right. It's just a ride. Right?" Oh, God. Don't grin. Don't grin. Don't grin. Shit. His lips curled into the most delicious smile and her knees weakened. She ran her hand along the hood to steady herself, then opened the door and crawled inside.

He backed out of the parking lot, pulled forward, then stopped. "You hungry?"

"No." Her stomach betrayed her and growled again. She huffed at the betrayal.

He chuckled. "I think you are. The Ark is still open. Let's swing by there."

"That isn't necessary. I can get something at home. We'll be there in fifteen minutes."

He turned onto the highway. "Come on, Raven. I'm leaving tomorrow. Spend a little time with me."

"Why?" She side-eyed him warily.

"Because we have unfinished business."


	15. Chapter 15

Raven placed her hand against her chest. Unfinished business? He had no idea. Or did he? A light bulb came on in her head and she glared pointedly at him. "You let the air out of my tire, didn't you?" She grit her teeth in agitation. Leave it to him to fix one thing she couldn't readily fix herself without proper equipment.

He looked at her and his lip quirked up. "Yes."

"So you're kidnapping me."

"Not hardly. You got in of your own free will."

God, she'd like to slap that grin off his face. "Only because you tricked me." If he weren't driving, she'd smack him.

"Guilty." He angled his head toward her, cheeky. Insufferable. "But still didn't force you."

"Why? And what unfinished business could we possibly have?"

He ignored the question and whipped the truck into the drive-thru lane. "You want the Ark burger with mayo, no onions, no pickles and a vanilla coke. Right?"

She blinked. "You remember?"

He licked his lips. "I remember—everything."

So did she and that was the problem. He was about to marry someone else and Raven wasn't sure whether she wanted to fuck him or kill him. But she couldn't let the former happen for a multitude of reasons. He didn't belong to her.

"So, Clarke says you're about to start a new job. Congratulations."

He placed the order then moved to the next window and paid. "That's probably not going to work out."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you'd already been hired."

"I believe everything happens for a reason. Like the timing of my visit here." He added, sparing her a glance from the corner of his eye.

"What does that mean?"

He drove forward again and got their food, then hit the highway and headed south. "Just that I've been trying to sort some things out, so coming here helped me do that. Quiet time in the country cleared my head."

"That's good, I guess."

"Clarke told me you have a project going with bath products. I figure that's what you were doing earlier. Right?"

"Yeah. I'm trying to get it off the ground, but not having much luck. The garage is still the ultimate dream." Raven noticed her surroundings and her stomach spiraled. "Where are we going?"

"Back forty. Did some target practice there the other day. I thought it'd be a quiet spot where we could talk."

She should tell him to take her home. Sitting in the woods with him under a full moon and starlit sky would only add fuel to her burning desire. "I should get home."

Too late. He'd already made the turn and within minutes, he parked, then pushed the greasy paper bag toward her. She removed the food and divided it but had lost her appetite. Why wasn't he going to work for his soon-to-be father-in-law? What had he been trying to sort out? Her brain flooded with questions but she didn't dare ask. The best thing to do was eat her hamburger, and get the hell away from him. Because being this close to him, her son's father, was taking its toll.

"Are you all right? You've hardly touched your food."

She sighed, pushing the half eaten burger aside, folding the sleeve back over it. "I was more tired than hungry. It's been a long day."

He reached into the back seat and produced a blanket. "Come on. Let's look at the stars."

She shot him a pointed look. "No. Take me home, please."

He reached over and unsnapped her seatbelt. "Oh, come on. Let's go back in time. Remember how we gazed at the stars that summer?"

Of course she remembered. Every kiss. Every touch. That's why she needed to get away from him. She closed her eyes and drew a staggering breath. "Why are you doing this?"

"What?" He seemed genuinely confused. But then, he didn't know. He didn't understand how hard this was for her.

"You know what," she sighed, suddenly exhausted and world weary. "Just take me home."

"Not until I find out."

Then he cupped her face and crushed his lips down on hers. She clutched his shirt to bring him closer. God help him. Nothing had changed. He remembered how her sweet, warm mouth had welcomed his kisses so many times. Every time. This time.

Suddenly she jerked away, threw her hand to her mouth, and the words she spoke came in a whisper full of pain and ever-rising anger. "You're getting married. We can't do this. I'm not the other-fucking-woman, Wick. I won't be," she growled.

"No, I'm not," he whispered softly, before clarifying, "getting married." And in that moment, everything became clear. This is why he couldn't marry Ontari. He'd never gotten over Raven.

She looked up at him. "What?"

"I'm not getting married. The wedding is off. I don't love her. I love you."

She covered her face and released a guttural sound muffled by her hands. Tears welled in her eyes. Don't cry, don't cry.

He gathered her in his arms and spoke into her hair. "And you love me. I wasn't sure until that kiss, but I am now. I know you said you had someone in your life, but I don't believe you. I think you told me that to get rid of me."

She pushed him away again and stared up at him. "You love me? Are you sure?" she snarled. "You don't get to just say that. It's been years, Wick. I can't do this again."

"You're never going to lose me, not again. I swear." His fingers speared into her hair, holding her face just right for him to kiss her again. "Come with me tomorrow."

"Where?" She narrowed her eyes.

"Baton Rouge. I've got to break the news to Ontari that the wedding is off."

Raven sat up straight and stared him down like a wild animal let out of its cage. "What? You haven't told her?" Then she covered her face. "What the fuck is wrong with you? You can't just come back and say these things to me, and not have called your wedding off, or even broke up with your fiancée!" She knocked a punch into his shoulder, hard, and he rubbed at it, shell shocked.

"No, I'm not," he held his hands out in surrender. He forgotten how feisty the small Latina was, how hot her anger ran, furious and consuming. She had wiped the floor with the baseball team more than once in high school with an arm like hers. "I decided to end it days ago. I just haven't told her. That isn't something to text someone about. I need to face her."

"Oh my God. You've made me the other woman." She shoved at him again, but he backed himself into the door, just shy of her power punch.

Hell hath no fury like Raven Reyes.

He raised up and wound his arms around her, hoping she didn't try to head-butt him or anything. He wouldn't put it past her. She could fight dirty, that much he remembered. "You're the only woman. I made that decision days ago. You've done nothing wrong. That's all on me."

She shot him a look that said, you're damn right it is.

Then he offered his best wicked smile. "As a matter of fact, you've done everything right." Then he flopped back down, resting against the seat, giving her some space in the limited cab. "Damn. I'm happy. For the first time in months, I'm actually happy."

Raven took a deep breath. "Well, that's about to change because I have something to tell you and when I do, I'm afraid you'll hate me."

He propped his hand under his head and faced her. "There is nothing that could make me hate you." He stroked his finger down her cheek, and this time she didn't flinch at his touch. He'd make it up to her, if she let him. No matter how long it took. "I love you. I've always loved you."

She held up a hand. "I just don't want you to hold it against him or let it affect your relationship. Okay? Promise me that."

Wick swung his body around, his elbow hitting the steering wheel roughly, but the spike of pain that shot up his elbow barely registered. "Oh, shit. Did you have sex with Bellamy?"

"No," she spat. "Idiot," she muttered.

"Oh shit. You're not dying are you? I mean, we can take you…"

"Stop it! Just let me get it out and get it over with."

He held his hands up in surrender. "Okay. Okay. What?"

Her lip quivered for a second, then she bit it. Whatever it was, he could tell this was killing her. She closed her eyes and then opened them, and swallowed so hard, a gurgling sound came from deep in her throat, like she might throw up. Then stared into his eyes. "You have a son. We have a son."

Wick froze. What did she say? A son? A child?

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't hate me. When I didn't hear from you again, I figured it'd be best not to tell you. Clearly, you didn't want anything to do with me, so what would have been the point?"

He stared at her for a long second, his mouth agape. He probably looked like a damn fish. Suddenly the small cab became claustrophobic, and he couldn't breathe. Shoving the door open, he rose to his full height and glared down at her as she slid across the seat. "The point? The point is you had my kid. I had a right to know!"

Raven sobbed. "I know. I know. But if you'd known, you would have insisted on marriage. Everyone would have. I was seventeen and pregnant. I couldn't help you. I couldn't work. You would have had to drop classes and get a part-time job. Move out of the dorms. Lose your scholarship. Then how long would it have been before you hated me for ruining your life?" Her breath hitched. "I know now you hate me anyway, but at least you were able to finish school."

He dropped to his knees, the seat of the cab the only thing keeping from falling to the ground, and threw his arms around her. His voice broke. "I don't hate you. I'm pissed. Yes. But I don't hate you."

She cried into his chest, and he held her tighter. Raven was always so strong, so intense, that her breakdown left him incapable of rational thought.

This was like a dream. Or a nightmare. He wasn't sure which. He had so many questions, he didn't know where to start. "It's just—a shock. Tell me about him."

She smiled, watery, her eyes far off as if she were trying to conjure him in her mind's eye. "He looks like you. Even the way his hair grows on the back of his neck. The little swirl you have here." She pressed her fingers to the spot. "He has it too. When he half-grins, his lip quirks up just like yours. His name is Thomas Kyle. Tommy."

Wick cocked his head. "You named him after me?"

She shrugged, half-heartedly, as if it were no big deal. "He's your son."

"When were you going to tell me? Or were you?"

"I was waiting for you to finish school, then Clarke told me you were engaged, so I decided to wait until after you were married. I didn't think it would be a good idea to spring fatherhood on you before that. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I know it's going to take a long time for you to forgive me, but I hope you can, for his sake."

He swallowed, still in shock. Everything was beginning to become effervescent. "What have you told him about me? Does he think I don't give a shit?"

"No," she frowned. "I would never let that happen. I haven't told him anything, because he hasn't asked. Not yet. But when he did, I planned to tell him we were too young to get married and you lived so far away you couldn't come here."

He ran his hand over his face, peeved. "Christ, Raven. Where the hell would that be? Mars? What kind of man would never want to see his kid?"

Now her breath came in gasps. "I'm sorry. I know I've done everything wrong. But regardless of the mistakes I've made, I'm a good mother. I'll let you see him anytime. I'll share custody. You can hate me because I deserve it, but I won't let you take him from me."

His chest burned as if he'd been sucker punched. But he needed to ask himself some hard questions. What would have happened if he'd known about the pregnancy? Probably wouldn't have finished college. She was right. A baby on the way would have forced him to change his life. And as angry as he was, she'd made all the sacrifices, even though she shouldn't have had too. And he loved her. That was the most important part. No matter what she'd done, he loved her. And she loved him, he knew, whether she wanted to admit it or not. He took a deep breath. "Well, you've kept him from me all these years so I don't see that I have a choice."

She sobbed into her hands. "Please, Wick. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

He pulled her hands away and knelt. "I'm going to marry you."

* * *

Someone pounded on Bellamy's bedroom door and he woke with a start. Jumping to his feet, he jerked on his boxers, and grabbed his pistol. Clarke sat up straight and pulled her knees to her chest, then covered herself with the sheet.

"Bellamy! Wake up," Wick yelled.

Bellamy yanked open the door, staring Wick down like he was a raving lunatic. "What the hell? You're about to get your ass shot."

Wick pushed past him and paced back and forth babbling a mile a minute. "I have a son. Can you believe it? I'm a dad." He looked at Clarke, not really registering anything. "You knew about Tommy, didn't you? That's why you said not to give up."

Bellamy looked at her, confused, still standing in the doorway. "Who the hell is Tommy?"

Wick didn't give her a chance to answer, bouncing on his heels like a make-a-wish kid at Disney who had just snorted pure sugar. "He's my kid! I haven't met him yet, but I will in a few hours. Raven says he looks like me."

Bellamy threw his hands up, the pistol still gripped in one. His thoughts felt too sluggish for this rapid-fire flux of information. "Whoa, whoa, whoa. Back the fuck up. You have a kid with Raven? What the fuck?" He faced Clarke again. "Is he right?"

She nodded.

"Damn." He raked a hand through his hair, trying to collect his thoughts. "Why didn't you say something?"

"She asked me not too. But I encouraged her to tell Wick. Every man should know his children."

Bellamy reached out and grabbed his brother. "Stop the damn pacing. You're wearing out my new carpet."

"Sorry. I can't help it." He slumped onto the end of the bed. "Me. A dad. Shit. I want to buy him something." He twisted to face Clarke again. "What does he like? What would be a good gift? Wait". He ran his hand over his face. "I don't have a job. How the hell am I going to provide for them, much less spring for a present?"

"I can loan you some money."

Bellamy glanced at her, jaw ticking. Old habits die hard. "That won't be necessary. I'll give him some."

Wick stood and looked at Clarke again. "What should I get him?"

"What happened to your job?"

"The job goes with Ontari but that doesn't matter. What about the gift?" He almost started pacing again. His mind wasn't really settling, all revolving around his son.

"He wants a pony." Clarke shrugged, and Bellamy glanced at her, exasperated. As if a pony were a toy truck you could buy for five dollars' mark down at the store.

"A real pony?" Wick posited. He always thought that's what little girls wanted, along with being General Organa and prima ballerinas. But this was Louisiana, and Tommy was probably too young for an alternator.

"Yes."

"Damn. Where will I get a horse on short notice and at this hour? Wait! Is Dante Wallace still alive? He used to have horses."

This time, Bellamy grabbed both of Wick's shoulders, stilling his erratic movements. "Go to bed. We'll call him first thing in the morning. If he doesn't have a horse, he'll know where we can find one." He nudged his brother toward the door. "Now get the hell out of my room."

"Okay, okay. I'm going." He made it to the hallway, then turned back. "Oh, one more thing. I asked Raven to marry me and she seems amenable. Well, she didn't really say anything, but she didn't beat me with a pipe so I think that's a positive direction."

"Damn, Wick. Now you're engaged to two women?"

"Technically, yes, but she's it. I love her, man. Always have. I know it sounds crazy, but when I saw her, I knew. And we have a child. God, I can't believe it."

Bellamy ran his hand over his stubble. "What I can't believe is that you're not pissed about that. But we'll add that to the discussion for tomorrow. I'm going to bed." He grabbed the door and closed it before Wick could barrel back in.

"You know I won't sleep!" Wick shouted from the hallway.

"That's your problem. See you in the morning." Bellamy crawled back into bed and Clarke scooted down next to him. He curled an arm around her, pulling her into his side.

"I think it's a good thing. I mean, now Tommy will have both parents. And if two people love each, they should be together."

Bellamy shifted to spoon her. "Don't do this."

"What?"

"Try to start a conversation about love and marriage shit."

She frowned. "I'm not."

"Yes, you are. I thought we were clear about our situation."

She pulled away and rolled to her back. "Perfectly clear."

Bellamy hated the disappointment in her voice. He'd been too harsh. Gathering her in his arms again, he nuzzled at her ear. "I didn't mean to be so gruff. I'll always protect you, but I'm right and you know it. We're from different worlds, Clarke. I'm not the guy to attend operas or dine at the country club, or do any of that rich people shit. And I never will be."

"Neither am I."

"You are and don't even realize it because you've always had money. Besides, a piece of paper doesn't guarantee fidelity."

"So you're saying Wick won't be faithful?" She had seen how Wick reacted to even a mention of Raven's name.

"No. He will. But not because of a legal document."

She stiffened. "Stop talking."

He scrubbed a hand over his face and tugged at his hair "Dammit. What do you want from me?"

"Nothing."

He took a deep breath. "Yes, you do." He pushed her away and propped on his elbow, then stared into her eyes. "As long as we're sleeping together, I won't have sex with anyone else. That's the best I can offer. You have to decide if it's enough."

God, she gazed up at him with those big eyes shimmering with tears and he wanted to take it all back. Why had he pressed the subject? He should have dropped it, but he couldn't let her expect something he could never give.

"And if it isn't?"

His lungs burned at the thought of losing her but he had to stand his ground. He had seen how marriages worked, and ultimately ended. "Then I guess we're done."

She drew a ragged breath and her bottom lip quivered. "I don't want to talk about this anymore." She snaked her hands around his neck and pressed her lips to his.

He rolled on top of her and deepened the kiss. He could be monogamous, with Clarke. He preferred it, but marriage had the ability to ruin even the best relationship. He'd stay with her, as long as she wanted him, but he couldn't give her anything, especially not for a girl who had everything.

* * *

The next morning, Bellamy left Clarke in bed while he and Wick went to see a man about a horse. Bellamy had never seen his brother so happy. Which was nuts because he still had an engagement to break and no future job in sight. But his luck was changing because Wallace had several ponies that fit the bill for a young boy.

Wick wanted to saddle one up and walk him home, but the old man talked sense into him. Said it'd be better to let Tommy pick what he wanted. Even take a test ride.

Forty-five minutes later, Bellamy stuck his checkbook in his back pocket and as they reached the truck, Wick's phone rang. He looked down at the number and pulled his brows together. "Hello—yes—what?" He leaned against the fender as if needing it for support.

Bellamy tried to read his face. Confusion? Worry? Hell, was it bad news?

Wick's eyes widened, then he smiled. "Yes, sir. I can be there next week. Yes, sir. Thank you." He clicked off and stared at Bellamy. "You won't believe this. I got a job offer. And a damn good one."

"No shit. From a university?"

"No. From Griffin Steel."

"Griffin Steel," Bellamy repeated.

"Yeah. They're the biggest…"

"I know who they are." Bellamy got into the truck.

Wick opened his door and slid onto the seat. "They want to see me next week."

"To interview?"

"No. To make an official offer. He mentioned a signing bonus. I don't understand this. How the hell did a company like that even find out about me needing a job?"

Bellamy started the truck. "Hey, don't question it. Just consider yourself lucky."

"Damn straight I won't question it. I'll sign that contract so fast that Becca Pramheda, the CEO's head will spin. Another thing. Since when does the top woman call a new hire?"

"Thought you weren't going to question it." He backed out of the drive and pulled onto the road, not meeting Wick's eyes.

"Yeah. You're right. Do you know what this will mean for Raven, Tommy, and me? We can buy a house. With a yard. Hell, we may be able to get a place big enough to keep his horse. Damn, somebody upstairs must be watching out for me." Wick leaned back against the seat, grinning.

"Yeah." Or somebody back at the house. "Must be Charamel."

"Right."

Bellamy glanced at him, changing the topic. "Well, you look like shit. Did you sleep at all?"

"No," Wick tapped the door, acting every bit like a coffee addict that had one too many espressos. "Couldn't stop thinking about meeting my son. Think he'll like me?"

"You're giving him a fucking pony, of course he'll like you. Give me a horse, even I'll like you."

"Shut up. You like me now."

Bellamy grinned. "Yeah, I do, and I'm happy for you. You'll be a great dad."

Wick smiled, albeit nervous. "I hope so."

"Tell me something. What'd you ever see in Ontari?"

Wick stretched his lips tight against his teeth and sighed. "I got caught up in her world and then mix in a job with the biggest company around, I guess I went a little crazy. Take somebody like you and me, we don't fit that circle. We've had to work for what we have. Ontari has had everything handed to her, and because of it, she doesn't appreciate anything. Feels entitled. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah."

"Now you tell me something. What's really going on with Clarke?"

Bellamy paused. "What do you mean?"

"Are you in love with her?" Wick asked matter-of-factly, as if inquiring about the weather.

Bellamy shot him a look. "What makes you think that?"

"You were upset when you thought she wasn't coming back, so if you don't have feelings for her, why go after her?"

Bellamy tightened his grip on the steering wheel until his fingers tingled. "It's none of your business, Wick."

"You like her. Like, really like her." Wick grinned from his seat, as if he had it all figured out with kindergarten mannerisms. Bellamy half expected him to start singing and mocking him.

"So what? Now that you've found your one true love, you're psycho analyzing me? Don't waste your time. I'm a lost cause when it comes to commitment."

Wick chuckled. "You're living together. I'd say there's already an element of commitment on your part."

Wick's evaluation hit hard. Bellamy had made plenty of mistakes. "Look, I know she likes me now, but she doesn't plan to stay in Arkadia forever, so it'll run its course and she'll move on."

"If you say so." He didn't look at-all convinced.

"Well, I do," Bellamy huffed, "so drop it and worry about your own love life. You've still got an engagement to break."

"Yeah, I'm going back tomorrow to take care of that."

Even as Bellamy said she'll move on, something in his gut twisted and his lungs burned. It had to be the thought of giving up the sex. Hands down, the best he'd ever had. The way she gave herself to him was as if she wanted to seep into his soul. But he wasn't wrong and Wick confirmed it. Bellamy didn't belong in Clarke's world any more than his brother belonged in Ontari's.

The house came into view. Octavia sat on the porch thumbing through a magazine, while her thumb moved in rapid succession over her phone's screen, permanently attached to her hand. Clarke stooped by the shed planting seeds. Probably zinnias because that's what Charamel always planted in that spot, right next to the hollyhocks.

Bellamy brought the Chevy to a stop and Wick got out and went inside while Bellamy made his way to Clarke, pausing only to say hi to his sister. "Planting zinnias?"

She looked up and shaded her eyes. "Yeah."

Damn, she looked so natural there. Like she belonged on a farm, digging in the dirt, but she didn't. He stuck his hands in his pockets. "So—Wick got a job offer from Griffin Steel. Imagine that."

She smiled, as if she was letting him in on a secret. "Good. Now he won't have to worry about supporting Raven and Tommy."

"Thank you."

She went back to work and spoke over her shoulder. "No problem. Just wielding my heiress power."

From her tone, last night's talk had only pissed her off. Damn.

* * *

Unable to sleep, Raven spent most of the night rehearsing how she'd tell Tommy about his dad. It was a subject they'd never talked about. She was thankful for that but now it was time to face the truth.

She sat on the edge of the bed and ran her fingers through Tommy's hair. His big brown eyes blinked open, and he held out his arms. She pulled him in close and nuzzled his ear. "I have a surprise for you."

He sat back and scanned the room. "A present?"

"Better than that."

"What?"

Unable to hold back, Raven burst into tears.

"What's wrong, Momma? Why are you crying?" Tommy patted at her cheeks.

She pulled him into another hug. "Because I'm happy. You're going to meet your daddy today."

"He's here? To see me?"

"Yes. And this is the best part. He wants to be a family."

"I want to see him." Tommy jumped from the bed and stripped off his pajamas. "Hurry, Momma. Help me get dressed."

In spite of her tears, Raven couldn't help but laugh. "Not so fast. He won't be here until ten."

"No. I want to see him now!"

"Okay. Okay." She pulled her cell from her pocket. "Why don't you call him? I'll dial the number." She punched it in, then handed the phone to Tommy. "When he answers, tell him who you are."

"Hello, this is Tommy. Are you my daddy? I want you to come see me now." He listened for a second, then grinned. "Yes, sir. But you better hurry cause Momma's crying."

By the time Wick parked in the drive, Raven's emotions still weren't under control. She didn't wait for him to knock, she jerked open the door and threw herself against him.

Wick stroked her hair. "Don't cry. It's okay." Then his eyes zeroed in on his son. Wick knelt, held out his arms, and the little boy ran to him. "Tommy. I've been trying to get back to you and your momma for a long time. I promise, I'll never leave you again." Then it was Wick's turn to cry and Raven's heart swelled. She dropped to her knees and wrapped her arms around both of them.

After a few minutes, she stood but Wick continued to hold Tommy and whispered in his ear. "Guess what?"

"What?"

"I'm taking you and your mom to Mr. Wallace's house for you to pick out a pony."

"A real pony?" His gap tooth grin spread wider than Raven had ever seen it.

"Yes."

Tommy wheeled around to face his mother. "He's getting me a real pony!"

"Wick!" Before she could say anything else, he raised his hands.

"If you don't want it in with your goats, we'll keep it at Bellamy's. So come on. Let's go."

"Wait!" Tommy ran to his bedroom and came back wearing his cowboy hat and carrying his bandana. "Tie this on me."

Wick looked at Raven. "Let me do it." He draped the kerchief around the boy's neck and knotted it. Then he pulled him into a hug and kissed his cheek. "You look like a real cowboy."

Tommy stepped back and ran out the door. As Raven and Wick caught up, he told her about his job offer. In the short span of a day, all his dreams were coming true.

When they arrived at Wallace's, Tommy didn't waste any time choosing the pony he wanted. Wick helped him saddle the nine-year-old pinto named Titus, and then the old man led the little cowpoke around the corral.

Raven had never seen her son this happy. Hell, she'd never been this happy. That's all she had wanted for years, some semblance of a family for Tommy.

Wick leaned in close. "I'm headed home tomorrow to take care of the Ontari problem. Only staying one night, then I'll be back. I wish you and Tommy would come with me."

"No. I think it'll be hard to tear him away from Titus. How'd you know he wanted a pony?"

"Clarke."

"Is she okay?"

"Yeah. She's sleeping with Bellamy. Not sure that's such a good idea, but he claims to have it under control."

Raven frowned, placing her hands on her lips like his comment personally offended her. "He's going to hurt her."

Wick shrugged. "I'm not so sure."

"What do you mean?" She raised an eyebrow.

"I think he's falling for her."

Dante brought Tommy and his mount to where Wick and Raven sat on the fence. Wick climbed down, helped Tommy off the horse and hugged him close. "I love you, Tommy."

Tommy wrapped his arms around Wick's neck. "I love you, too, Daddy."


	16. Chapter 16

Early the next morning, with Wick on his way to Baton Rouge, Octavia still sound asleep, and Clarke gone to work, Bellamy headed to his property to mend fence for the pony's new home. Wick's excitement about fatherhood proved contagious, and Bellamy was stoked about being an uncle. Maybe he was projecting his own secret desire through his step brother. Since finding out about the little boy, fleeting thoughts of parenthood had crossed Bellamy's mind more than once.

There'd been a time when he'd dreamed of having his own family, but prison killed that hope. He'd pushed the idea to the back of his mind and concentrated on staying alive. Now, he was finding out that freedom created a whole new list of problems. In the number one position—Clarke, and what to do about her.

He swung the truck around next to the fence. As soon as he opened the door, Crassus jumped out and hiked his leg on the nearest post. Pulling on his gloves, Bellamy got to work, but couldn't concentrate on the job. Wick's questions had stirred up some emotions Bellamy didn't want to deal with. Why try to make more out of sleeping together than just plain sex? Octavia was the only one not questioning Bellamy's intentions, and that was probably because he'd seen so little of her, he'd not brought it up.

Crassus barked at a grasshopper while Bellamy grabbed the posthole digger and dug next to a broken post. Once he had the new upright in place, he attached the fence stretcher, connected the two pieces of barbed wire, looped them together, and twisted them tight.

Okay, so maybe what he felt for Clarke was stronger than physical, but what did everyone expect him to do? She was the one who'd wanted it and he was just giving her what she asked for. Well, he'd wanted it, too, but she'd started it, and now he was paying the price. Seemed she and everyone else expected more from him, and he had no more to give. Especially not to her. A twenty-four-year-old rich girl mooning over the first guy who'd given her an orgasm. That was a hell of a long way from—from. Shit, from what? He didn't know. That's the thing that bothered him most.

"Crassus! Come here. Don't wander off because when I'm ready to go, I'm not coming to find you." The dog looked at him as if to say he knew better. Bellamy couldn't even fool the mutt. He moved farther down to another problem area and spliced wire to repair it. Once done, Titus would have plenty of pasture to graze and when winter came, Bellamy could move some of the hay bales.

The dog scampered to the edge of the pond and drank. Even though it was almost dry, with a little rain, it'd be enough for one horse.

Bellamy hoisted himself onto the tailgate, palmed a bottle of water, and took a long pull. Maybe he'd buy a few head of cattle or a friend for Titus. Tommy was too young to ride alone so if Bellamy bought another mount, he or Wick or even Raven could go with him.

The idea made Bellamy smile, but as quickly as the happy image appeared, it vanished. What was he thinking? Once Wick started with Griffin Steel, he'd move his new family, and they'd rarely come to Arkadia.

A few months ago, Bellamy dreamed of being alone in Charamel's house with simple, quiet freedom. Now the thought of Wick and Octavia leaving made his stomach hurt. Fast forward to December, when Clarke turned twenty-five, she'd leave, too. Suddenly, easy, silent, liberty felt as much like prison as his cell had. Dammit.

Crassus trotted up carrying a stick in his mouth and laid it at Bellamy's feet.

"Oh, so you want to play a game of fetch?" Bellamy picked up the small branch and gave it a toss. The dog took off, returned and dropped it again. "Okay. One more time and then we're leaving."

Twenty minutes later, Bellamy threw again as hard as he could. "This is the last time. I mean it." He wiped sweat from his brow and closed the tailgate. When the dog came back, and Bellamy didn't do another toss, Crassus dropped the stick. He opened the door and looked down at his sidekick. "In."

The dog obeyed and Bellamy shook his head. Damn, if everyone else in his life would just abide by his instructions, he'd have it made.

By the time he got home, Octavia was sitting at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal.

Bellamy eyed her. "Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my house?"

"Very funny." She shoveled another spoonful of fruit loops into her mouth.

He rubbed his chin, contemplative. "Come to think of it, you look a little familiar."

Octavia grinned. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm supposed to be visiting you but haven't been around much. Sorry about that. And, it seems a lot has happened in my absence."

"Yeah, Wick became a father and got another woman to agree to marry him. I think." Bellamy broke into laughter. "And I thought I was a player. Seems the two of you are outplaying me on every level. You proposed to Lincoln yet?"

"Not yet."

Bellamy pulled his brows together. "You say that like you're going to."

Octavia turned up her bowl and drank the remaining milk, then wiped her mouth on the hem of her tee-shirt. "I could." She raised her chin, defiant. "Fuck societal norms."

"No shit?" Bellamy shook his head and laughed. "What's gotten into you and Wick? Leave the city, come to Nowhere USA and suddenly you're both ready for a next step. Crazy."

Octavia rolled her eyes, no doubt remembering all the times she defiantly claimed she was never getting married, because, as she said, fuck societal norms. "You're one to talk. Don't think I don't notice what's going on with you and Clarke. Last I heard, the two of you weren't even speaking."

"Yeah, well, things change." Bellamy didn't want to risk another love lecture, so he changed the subject. "What you got going today?"

"I thought I'd go with you to move the pony. You get the fence fixed?"

"Yeah and there's enough water left in the pond to hold him for a while. Dante has a trailer we can use, so if you're ready, we'll go."

"Lead the way. I'm right behind you."

* * *

Wells Jaha had been in the detective business long enough to know that local watering holes were a wealth of information. As he came to a stop in front of a bar, he figured it wouldn't be any different. Bartenders in small towns had their ears to the ground and knew as much gossip as hairdressers.

One good thing about private practice was he no longer had to wear standard black suits. Today, he'd dressed as casual as possible to fit in. In a country town, jeans, knit shirts, cowboy boots filled the bill.

He pushed the door open and slid onto the stool at the end of the bar. Too early for happy hour, the place was empty except for two old guys sitting at a corner table.

The bartender approached. "What can I get ya?"

"You got Atrial Rubicite?"

"Sure."

"Give me a frosted mug, too."

The barkeep placed the tall boy and mug on the counter. "You passing through?"

"Yeah. Looking for an old friend who lives here. Thought I might stop by her place and catch up. Lost touch. Charamel Blake. You know her?"

"Yeah, but sorry to tell you, she died a while ago."

Wells tilted the mug and poured in the beer. "Really? She sell her place?"

"Nah. Left it to her grandson. Bellamy Blake. Ever meet him?"

"No. Didn't anybody but Charamel. He living there?" Wells gulped, then smacked. "Damn, I don't know if it's the well water or the raspberries, but that's good beer."

"Been there a few months. Got an early release from prison."

Well's stomach clenched at the thought of an ex-con visiting the reward site. "Charamel never mentioned a trouble-maker in the family."

"I don't think he is. Never caused any trouble in here."

"So he's a regular?"

"Was for a while. I think he was catching up if you get my drift. Left most nights with a woman on his arm."

Wells chuckled. "Maybe one caught him. Happens when we least expect it." He thought about Keenan and how he'd already fallen for her.

The bartender put a bowl of peanuts in front of him. "I heard he's been building onto the house. He came in during the festival. Had some friends with him. So, what line of work are you in?"

"Retired FBI."

"No shit? Ever protect the president?"

"A couple of times. Take my word, the job isn't as sexy as they make it on TV. So, how was the festival? I remember Charamel looking forward to it every year." Wells remembered no such thing, but he'd done his homework. Lying was an art form and if you wanted to master it, you had to have your Intel in place. Which meant finding out what the area was famous for and reading past issues of the local paper. Didn't take much to find out Charamel helped to get ark shaped bird houses mounted on all the county roads.

Thirty minutes later, Wells had extracted all the information he needed from Gustus, the bartender. And thanks to Google, he located the house and learned all about Bellamy Blake.

* * *

Bellamy put the last plate in the dishwasher and stared out the kitchen window at the dust kicking up as a car approached.

Clarke was busy wiping the table while Crassus sniffed underneath for stray crumbs.

Bellamy turned to face her. "I don't recognize this car pulling into the drive so stay out of sight."

He dried his hands on the cup towel, then stepped onto the porch as a stranger got out of his silver Chevy Equinox. The first thing Bellamy learned in prison was to trust no one. "You lost?"

The guy shaded his eyes against the setting sun. "No. I'm looking for Bellamy Blake."

"You found him."

The man moved closer and stuck out his business card. "I'm Wells. Wells Jaha."

Bellamy took the card, read it, then stepped back. "How can I help you, Mr. Jaha?"

"I'm working a missing person case and my investigation led me here."

"So someone reported me missing? Case solved. Here I am."

"Not you. A young woman. Lark Griffin."

From the moment Bellamy was arrested, he'd discovered law enforcement didn't want the truth, they wanted to be right. Lying with a straight face became second nature—and to be good at it, you never asked unnecessary questions and never defended your answers. "Sorry, can't help you there."

"So you don't know her?"

"No."

"Never even heard of her?"

"No."

"She's heir to Griffin Steel. Familiar with them?"

"Sure."

"Aren't you curious why your place landed on my radar?"

"Not really."

Wells shifted his weight from foot to the other. "Someone at this IP address searched the reward site for Miss Griffin. That tells me you know who she is. And, I think you know where she is."

Bellamy kept his poker face but his stomach twisted because his stupid curiosity had brought this guy here. "Like I said, can't help you."

Wells pursued his lips and Bellamy decided the PI was former law enforcement, military police, or worse—FBI. He could spot them a mile away. They all had a certain swagger and arrogance. Like they had you by the balls.

Wells advanced, closing the distance between them. "Look, Mr. Blake. I'll be honest with you. I don't like my client much, but I've committed to the job and won't stop until I find the girl. I'm pretty sure I have. She may not be here on your property, but I'd be willing to bet my left nut she's in this town. So this is how it will work. Two days from now, I plan to report what I believe to be the kid's location. When that happens, an army will descend on this place."

Bellamy smirked. "You'll be able to live just fine with one nut."

Wells smiled, turned to go, then stopped and faced Bellamy again. "Too bad the girl's not married because then nobody could touch her. Any decisions about her mental health would fall to her husband." When Bellamy didn't reply, Wells got in his car and drove away.

Bellamy's heart pounded. Clarke had heard every word. Two days. Two fucking days to make a decision about her next move. He watched until the car disappeared, then opened the door to find Clarke leaning against the wall like a statue.

She took a shallow breath. "Say something."

He wanted to speak, but his throat had closed off. This was his fault. If he'd not done the fucking search. But he didn't know at the time who she was or that anyone was looking for her. Hell, if she'd told him the truth from the beginning. Dammit.

Her bottom lip quivered. "Please. Say something."

He grabbed his keys from the table by the door. "I need a drink." Then he rushed out to his truck and peeled out of the dirt drive.

* * *

Paralyzed with fear, Clarke pressed against the wall like a cat burglar. So much for Bellamy doing everything he could to protect her. What a lie. It'd all been lies. He'd known who she was because he'd looked on the internet and now, they'd found her. Eight more months. That's all she'd needed to be home free, and she'd been stupid enough to think she'd make it. Even a bigger fool to believe Bellamy might love her.

She shook her head to clear it, then pulled her wits together. She'd disappeared once. She could do it again. She had to. Finding her feet, she rushed down the hall and grabbed her bag from the closet, then stuffed everything into it. After that, she took a pen and paper, wrote a note, stuck it in her pocket, and returned to the kitchen for a few food items. For all she knew, the PI was watching the house, so she escaped through the back door.

Within a few minutes, she was inside Raven's garage, heaving out the words. "I have to leave. I need your car."

Raven looked up from where she was hunched over an engine with a screwdriver. For what, Clarke didn't know. Raven's eyes raked over her windblown appearance with a frown, and Clarke wondered briefly what she saw - her red nose, hysterical expression, frizzy blond and pink curls. "Oh, my God. What's wrong?"

She gulped air. "I'm sorry. I don't have time to explain, but here's a note for Bellamy. He'll tell you everything and give you my car. Even trade."

Raven wiped her forehead, smearing grease. "What are you talking about? Your car is worth twice what mine is. I don't understand."

"I know and I'm sorry. Please, give me the keys."

Raven scrounged in her bag and removed the key from the keychain and handed it over. "Where are you going?"

"I don't know. But I'll be okay." She turned and headed to the door with Raven following.

"Please, Clarke. Don't go. Whatever it is, I'll help you. Wick will, too."

"I know. But there isn't anything you can do unless you marry me."

She stopped in her tracks, dumbfounded. "What? Marry you? Why do you need to get married?"

Clarke shook her head. "I was being sarcastic. Joking. I should be getting good at them since the joke has been on me ever since Bellamy arrived. Thank you, Raven for being my friend. I really have to go before he gets back." She climbed into the Toyota and started the engine. "I'll call to let you know that I'm okay. I promise."

She shoved the car into gear and sped away with Raven calling after her. Fifteen minutes later, she passed the city limits sign, then glanced in her rearview mirror. Goodbye, Arkadia. Then she pushed Bellamy from her mind and made a mental to-do list.

Drive to Dallas, ditch the car in a bad part of town and leave the keys in it. Call a cab, have them deliver her to a bus station, and buy a ticket to Waco where she'd spend the night. That would give her a chance to dye her hair and change her wardrobe. Time to get rid of her blond hair, it was too obvious, even with the pink tips. The next morning, take a different bus to Austin. If the apartment she'd found online was still available, she'd rent it. Guess the online searches she'd done while taking care of the goats had paid off. At the time it was to get away from Bellamy, but now she was running for her life again. At least she had a plan in place. If she'd been smart, she would have had one all along but after a few months with Charamel, Clarke had felt so safe she'd not thought about being found.

She glanced at the speedometer and eased off the pedal. Wouldn't want to get a ticket. Needed to avoid anything traceable. Thank goodness, Raven's car didn't have GPS. Clarke added a new phone to the list. Not because a burner was trackable, but because Bellamy had her number and if she kept it, she might answer in a weak moment. Couldn't help but laugh. She was taking a lot for granted. He probably wouldn't call. Especially now that the detective had shown up. That was the sort of attention Bellamy didn't want or need. Yeah, he would be glad to be rid of her. He'd go right back to his life before she barged into it, with the women and the booze.

Clarke's stomach lurched. She hated the idea of the man she loved with other women, but she needed to get over that. He didn't love her and never would. She couldn't blame him. She'd thrown herself at him.

She found a rock station and cranked up the music. Time for a new beginning all the way around. No more Bellamy Blake. No more Clarke.

* * *

Bellamy wanted to get shit-faced and forget about what he'd done, but wasn't in the mood. Liquor wouldn't solve anything. When he sobered up, he'd still be the one who'd allowed Clarke's wicked step-mother to find her. The question now—what to do about it? Marry her?

Maybe it wouldn't be such a big deal. It could be short term. That's all she needed. An eight month union and then she'd divorce him. That way, she'd save face. It'd be perfectly acceptable. The rich girl finally came to her senses and realized she'd had a lapse in judgement concerning a ex con. Plenty of uppity girls liked to slum. Typical behavior for an affluent twenty-four-year-old.

Why had the PI even mentioned marriage? Why was he waiting two days to report? He'd said he didn't like his client much, but he was risking a lot. If the woman found out he'd given Clarke time to disappear again, then he'd lose his fee. Something wasn't right about that guy. It was almost like he had a conscience and cared.

Bellamy knocked back his second shot, then called it a night. He'd go home and fix this mess. Besides, he'd promised to take care of her—keep her safe. And he always kept his word.

When Bellamy got home, he breathed a sigh of relief. Clarke's car was still there. Not that she'd leave before he got back. She knew him well enough to know he'd need time to wrap his brain around the situation. Besides, she had two days before anything happened. Unless Jaha had lied which was a strong possibility, but for some reason, Bellamy believed the guy.

He got out and took the porch in three steps, then opened the door. "Clarke!"

No answer. His heart kicked up a notch. Hurrying down the hall, he called again. Still no response. Inside the master suite, he rushed to the closet. Her things—gone. He checked the bathroom. Toothbrush, makeup, every personal item—cleared out. Dammit. He hurried to his truck and peeled out toward Raven's.

She was closing up the shop as he pulled into the drive. "Hey!" he shouted as he climbed from his seat. "Clarke here?"

Raven turned to look at him and he didn't like her expression. She'd been crying. "What's wrong? You and Wick have a fight?"

"No. Clarke is gone. Took my car." She reached inside her pocket and pulled out the envelope. "She left this for you."

Bellamy grabbed the note, ripped it open, and stared down at the single sheet of paper.

Please tell Raven everything and give her my car. We agreed on an even trade. It's in Charamel's name, so you'll have to transfer the title.

Clarke

She couldn't have said "Fuck You" better if she'd spelled it out. No goodbye. I'll call. Thanks for everything. "Where'd she go?"

Raven shook her head. "I don't know. Not sure she did either. What's going on, Bellamy? She'd been crying and wouldn't take time to explain anything."

He folded the note and stuck it in his pocket along with the PI's card from earlier and began the story leaving out how it was his fault they'd found her and how he could have saved her. When he finished, Raven placed her hand to her throat. "Griffin Steel. Wick's job. She did that for him. For us." She fisted her hand and pounded Bellamy's chest, smearing motor oil on his shirt. He couldn't bring himself to care. "Why did you leave? You should have known she'd panic."

"We had time. I didn't think she'd do anything without talking to me. Fuck. How long?"

"Over an hour. You'll never catch up to her. Besides, we don't know which direction she went. Go home, Bellamy. She promised me she'd call to let me know she was okay. When she does, I'll try to find out where she is."

He climbed into the truck, but Raven wasn't finished because she followed and leaned against the fender. "She made a joke about marriage. What was that about?"

He ran his hand over his face. "The guy said if she was married, her step-mother wouldn't be a threat."

Raven groaned. "Damn you, Bellamy, you idiot. Why didn't you offer to marry her? It's not a damn big deal if it helps her from being committed."

"If it came to that, I would have. She should have waited. We could have worked this out. I could have protected her. When she calls, tell her that."

"Yeah. Like it'll make a difference now." Raven turned and stomped into the house.

When Bellamy returned home, he decided getting shit-faced was a good idea, so he broke out the whiskey. No need for a glass, he'd drink straight from the bottle. He headed to the back deck, shoved his sunglasses on, and plopped down onto the chaise.

Okay, maybe he wasn't clear about his need to get drunk. Hell, he had plenty of reasons. He took a long pull on the bottle and felt the burn. Letting Clarke stay. That'd been his first mistake. He should have kicked her ass out the next morning.

He turned the bottle up again. Going to that fucking banquet. Seeing her in that dress. Hating the way that boy had his hands on her. Shit. Another drink and Bellamy would feel better.

If he'd just not gone to that website. His biggest regret. But if she'd just been honest with him. No. This wasn't all his fault. She should have waited. Running off didn't prove anything. No way she was safer out there on her own than being here with him. He slugged another gulp. Jack Daniels might not fix everything, but it could sure as hell get him through the night.

* * *

"Bellamy! Wake up!"

The voice came from far away and Bellamy tried to open his eyes but only managed to squint. God, it was dark. And wet. Where the hell was he?

"Help me get him up," Wick said.

"Damn, Bellamy. What got into you? It's pouring out here." Octavia asked.

Bellamy's head weaved. Hell, hell, the gang's all her. I mean…here. Shit. It's raining and Clarke may be afraid. Damn her. She needed to be here. Where he could make her feel safe. His lids fluttered, but he couldn't get his eyes to roll down. "Oh, hey, O."

"Shit, we're gonna have to drag him in the house," Wick said.

Bellamy tried to raise his arms, but they were too heavy. Rain must have soaked me to the bone. "Just give me a minute. I'll get up."

They tugged him forward and he opened his eyes. "See, I can do it by myself."

"No, you can't. Shit, Bell."

He looked up at Wick, and slurred his words. "What day is it? I thought you were in Baton Rouge breaking up with bachelorette number one."

"Yeah, how'd that go," Octavia asked Wick.

"Easier than I thought. Once I told her about Tommy and how I planned to get custody, she said that was a deal breaker and handed me my ring and called me every name in the book for embarrassing her in the society pages. Didn't even shed a tear."

"Her or you?" Bellamy said.

"Her, you fucking moron. Now, on three, we're pulling your sorry ass up and getting you inside. One. Two. Three."

A minute later, they let go of him and he fell onto the couch.

"I've been on the road all day," Wick said. "Then I come home to this shit. She's gone, Bellamy, and she's not coming back. You're going to have to suck it up and go on with life. You understand?"

"Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Wick. She is coming back, because if it's the last thing I do, I'm going to find her."

Octavia and Wick shared a look. "Of course you are, big brother."

* * *

Clarke rinsed her hair, then raked her fingers through it. The unnatural redhead staring back at her from the mirror would take some getting used to.

Just as Clarke planned, by now, Raven's car had probably been stolen. Even the taxi driver had warned Clarke about being in that part of town. She'd used the excuse her jerk of a boyfriend had dumped her there. Thank goodness the cab had arrived minutes after she'd parked. The dark street had given her the creeps.

Pulling peanut butter and crackers from her bag, she used her finger to rake a glob from the jar onto the saltine. She took a bite and washed it down with water. She knew from experience she could live on the two items for days. She'd done it before, and she could do it again.

She replaced the lid on the jar, twisted the paper around the crackers, and reminded herself to forget the past. She needed to concentrate on the future and for now, this room was it.

Delphi motel wasn't fancy, but it was clean and they accepted cash. She'd liked the cab driver so much, she'd asked him to come back in the morning to take her to the bus station. It was a risk. He'd notice her new hair color. But she figured if he believed her story about the abusive boyfriend, then changing her looks and leaving town made sense.

She walked to the window and stared out. Not much of a view. A parking lot with the motel sign flashing no vacancy. Desk clerk told her she'd gotten the last room. Things were falling into place which convinced her she'd done the right thing. The fear of starting over squeezed the air from her lungs, but there was also a sense of relief. No more lying to people she'd grown fond of. By now, Raven knew the truth. Soon, Octavia, Harper, and Wick would know. Then they might all hate her because friendship was based on honesty and that was the one thing she couldn't afford.

She ate her last cracker, brushed her teeth and settled onto the scratchy sheets. If only the PI hadn't found her, she'd be curled next to Bellamy listening to his steady breathing. She dug her fingernails into her palms, the pain taking her thoughts. No. No more dreaming about a man she'd never have. A guy who'd never love her. Instead, she forced her mind to Crassus. What she'd give to have him with her. But traveling by bus, made it impossible to bring him. With that final thought, she drifted to sleep.

The next morning, Clarke got up early. She'd eaten more peanut butter and crackers for breakfast, then finished her remaining bottle of water. She should be in Austin by noon and hopefully have an apartment by the end of the day.

All the way to the bus station, the cab driver, Nyko, supported her decision to leave the bad relationship. He and his wife had been together for fifteen years and he saw no reason for a man to mistreat a woman no matter what.

The biggest surprise was how easily those lies spilled out. During the last three years, she'd gotten good at avoiding the truth. Easier with strangers, but still, it shouldn't be so effortless. Come Christmas, she'd go back to being Lark Griffin. Truthful to a fault. Clarke. How she'd loved how the name rolled off Bellamy's tongue. Dammit. She didn't want to think about his tongue. Big lie. She did want to think about it. How it felt in her mouth and other places. The sensation she got when he wrapped her in his arms. She'd felt so small. So safe.

Maybe she'd legally change her name on her birthday. She had liked being Clarke. Clarke Griffin had a ring to it.

Taking a deep breath, she looked out the window at the passing landscape. Not much to see on the Interstate. Cars whizzing by. Everyone in a hurry to get somewhere. So was she and in another couple of hours, she'd reinvent herself one more time. She'd keep Clarke. Clarke Sky, maybe. Austin artist.


	17. Chapter 17

Clarke sat on a park bench and palmed her new phone. Reading the ad one more time, she hoped the property was still available.

Constructed with the same quality and style as the one-hundred-year old main house, the furnished single bedroom garage apartment provided a private entrance. Hardwood floors. Washer and dryer. An upper patio overlooked an arbor to the courtyard and fountain. Located in the historic district, a grocery store, coffee shop, and several restaurants were within walking distance.

Her heart hammered as she dialed, and a woman with a French accent answered. Once Clarke confirmed the property's availability, she arranged to see the place.

An hour later, she set her duffle bag down and rang the doorbell. When Callie Cartwig opened the door, she wasn't anything like Clarke pictured. She imagined someone older and fat from years of eating rich cuisine. Before her stood a beautiful woman of Asian descent with dark eyes full of what had to be joy. Black hair twisted into a messy bun with wisps dangling around her flawless face. A round beaded turquoise necklace, weighing at least a pound, rested against her stylish orange and red brocade tunic.

Callie eyed Clarke from top to bottom and she felt uneasy. Although, she'd removed her nose ring and dressed in basic black slacks and white cotton shirt, she'd still had the unnatural red hair. She picked up her bag, straightened, and pulled her shoulders back.

"Mrs. Cartwig?"

"Yes. Come in, my dear."

Clarke followed her into a sitting room and got dizzy. It'd been awhile since she'd thought about French décor, but she'd not forgotten how gaudy it could be. The woman eased onto one of two orange velvet Bergere chairs and motioned for Clarke to sit. She chose the opposing crewel Queen Victorian. On either side of the fireplace, stone columns held urns full of leafy plants, and a wall tapestry depicting a grape harvest hung above the mantle.

Removing a sheet of paper from the top of a French cerulean antique two-drawer chest, she handed it to Clarke. "I'll leave you alone to fill out the application. I had chocolate croissants for breakfast. Would you like one with a glass of champagne?"

It was only ten o'clock in the morning, but Clarke wasn't going to mention it. However, those pastries sounded good. "I'd love a croissant and water is fine."

Her hostess flapped a hand in the air. "Absolument pas! Vous ne pouvez pas boire de l'eau avec de la pâte."

Clarke blinked. She understood the first part. Absolutely not. But wasn't sure about the rest. She'd not spoken French since she was fifteen. She'd have to brush up on the language.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I grew up in Louisiana, my maman always spoke French in the house. You can't drink water with pastry. I'll bring you some fresh squeezed orange juice. Oui?"

Clarke nodded. "Yes, thank you." Once she was alone, it didn't take long to finish the paperwork. She stared down at the blank lines and her heart sank. No chance of being approved. She glanced around the room again. Resting on an easel, a painting of sunflowers in a blue vase caught her eye. She walked to the canvas and squinted to read the signature. C. Cartwig. If she played her cards right, living here just might be possible.

When the woman returned, she set a silver tray on a small ottoman.

Clarke passed the paper and took her first bite. After nothing but peanut butter and crackers, the pastry shocked her taste buds. As she ate, Mrs. Cartwig studied the application.

"So, I see you have no credit cards. No bank account. No job. No references. No former employment. You list a previous landlady—deceased. Your parents, as well."

She looked up at Clarke as if waiting for an explanation.

And she had none. At least nothing she could share. Setting the tray back on the ottoman, Clarke finished her juice, then cleared her throat. "I don't have any pets. I don't party. I'm not messy. I can pay six months' rent in advance, if you'll accept cash."

Lacing her fingers together, Mrs. Cartwig shouldered back in her chair. "With no employment record, I'm forced to wonder where your money comes from."

"I inherited it." The look in the woman's eyes said she was about to send Clarke packing, but she couldn't let that happen. This was perfect. "I just want a nice quiet place to concentrate on painting."

That got her attention with renewed interest. "You're an artist?"

"Struggling."

"Do you have anything I may see?"

"Just some sketches."

"Show me."

Clarke unzipped her bag, removed the pad, and handed it over. At first, she turned the pages quickly, than slower. Suddenly, her eyes widened, and she held the pad for Clarke to see. "This man. Your lover? Oui?"

In her excitement, Clarke had forgotten to take that picture out. Bellamy. Every inch of him. Some more important than others. "Yes."

She raised a brow. "Ah. More than that. You are in love with him. Oui?"

Clarke's throat thickened. She bit her bottom lip and nodded.

"But he doesn't love you?"

This wasn't going the way Clarke had planned. The last thing she wanted was to look at the sketches or Bellamy and remember how it felt to run her hands over his beautiful body. She hung her head and bit back tears. "No."

Callie shook her head. ''Men give us their cocks, and we give them our hearts. He is the real reason you want solitude. To heal your broken heart. Oui?''

Clarke nodded again.

''When can you move in ?''

"Now. This bag is all I have."

Mrs. Cartwig passed the pad to Clarke and motioned for her to follow. "I'll show you the place and if you like it, then it's yours."

Clarke couldn't help but smile. Everything was finally going her way. As soon as she began to paint, she'd forget all about Bellamy and the rest of her problems.

Her new landlady spoke over her shoulder. "Where are your painting supplies?"

"I don't have any. Maybe you can point me to the nearest supply store."

"Not necessary. I have many you can have." She held up her hands. "I cannot paint any longer." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a key. "After my husband died, I didn't have it in me anymore. He was my muse."

Inside the apartment, Clarke turned in a circle. The online pictures didn't do the place justice. Everything was pristine. Gleaming countertops. Spotless white cabinets. Stainless appliances. Her heart sped up. Eight months here would be a dream come true. Natural light poured through the windows. She couldn't wait to get started on her first canvas.

"I love it. I promise I will be the best tenant you've ever had."

The proprietor laughed. "No doubt because you're my first. This was my studio, but once I accepted I'd never paint again, I hated to waste the space. You, my dear, were sent to me as an angel. Watching you create what I no longer can will be my joy. Perhaps you will let me teach you."

"Yes. I would like that very much."

She cocked her head. "This lover. He was good?"

Clarke's cheeks heated. She'd not expected the question.

"Oh, Chere. I'm sorry. I have embarrassed you. It's just from his endowment, I assumed he was."

"Yes." Maybe someday when she no longer loved him, she would want someone else, but not now.

Mrs. Cartwig fingered the balls of her necklace. "I had a lover like him once. I still shiver when I recall our time together."

Clarke's chest tightened. "Did you marry him?"

She chuckled. "No. He was already married. I've had countless lovers, but he was the best. Perhaps it was because he was younger. So virile. So insatiable. Anyway, I bring this up so you will understand you will also have many, if you choose. That is the thing with women. We are the ones who set the rules of lovemaking." She laid the key on the counter. "I'm sure you noticed the market down the street. And I hear the coffee shop is good. However, I have breakfast each morning at eight and I would be happy for you to join me. I would welcome the company. My housekeeper stays until noon each day, but she is too busy to provide companionship."

"Okay." Clarke reached into her bag and pulled out six stacks of bills banded together. "Here's the rent."

She laughed again. "You were convinced I would accept your application?"

"No. But I wanted to be prepared."

* * *

Bellamy disconnected, threw his phone onto the bed and cursed. He didn't care if he had called Raven a thousand times, he needed to find out if Clarke was all right. Why in the hell she hadn't contacted her friend, pissed him off. She'd promised.

It had been a week and during that time he'd not slept for thinking about her. Raven's old Toyota wasn't dependable. Clarke was alone, and according to Raven, had no plan. Who strikes out with no idea of where they're going? Hell, she could have had car trouble and ended up with some pervert or serial killer. He took a deep breath. Okay, he was letting his imagination get the best of him. Sleep deprivation did that to a guy. Still, she should have been more responsible.

He stuck his phone in his pocket and headed outside. He still had scrap lumber to dispose of. At least the cleanup would keep him busy. He wanted to jump on his Harley and try to find her, but he had no clue where to start.

He got the wheelbarrow and tossed blocks of two-by-fours into it. After he rolled the first load to the burn pile he'd started, he returned for more, wheeling next to a row of tomatoes. The garden was already getting overgrown. Damn it. Every way he turned there was something to remind him of her.

He pitched more wood into the cart and thought about Wells Jaha. Bellamy had expected the PI to come back, but he hadn't. Guess he figured his warning worked because only a fool would have hung around, and Clarke was no idiot. She'd been smart enough to cover her tracks for three years, she could do it again. That's what bothered him. He'd never find her unless she wanted to be found.

One hint. That's all Bellamy needed. Something to point him in the right direction.

He stopped and stared into space. Desperate times call for desperate measures. He didn't know who said that, but it was true. Then he palmed his phone and punched in Raven's number again. She answered on the first ring.

She sounded irate, plowing right into the conversation without greeting. "Look, Bellamy. I told you I'll let you know when I hear from her."

"That's not what I'm calling about. I want you to report your car stolen."

* * *

Standing at the window, phone in hand, Clarke watched the gardener trim shrubs. Sterling came each Thursday, quickly removed his shirt, and tied a bandanna around his head like a warrior. More than once, Callie had tried to get her tenant interested in the guy, and he was nice to look at. Lean planes, hard muscles, and a light dusting of hair on his tanned chest. From an artist's standpoint, Clarke wanted to capture his image on canvas but figured she'd come across creepy if she asked him to pose.

A photo would be enough. She waited until he fired up the hedge trimmer again, then framed his body within the screen, and clicked several times. Clarke chuckled. Across the way, Callie had binoculars. The artist in her couldn't resist a beautiful body.

There was something about the male form that fascinated Clarke. Powerful hips. Bulging biceps. Defined abs—and his manhood. She found it most beautiful. Sculptors and artists had admired the human physique since time began. It just so happened she concentrated on the male species. Not that she couldn't appreciate females, she did, but now they didn't captivate her in the same way.

She strolled back inside and finished the bowl of grapes and strawberries she'd brought home from breakfast with Callie. Funny. Breakfast with Callie, sounded like a movie title. She popped a grape into her mouth.

She'd needed a distraction and Sterling was that. She smiled. He was just the sort of guy Bellamy thought she belonged with.

She'd called Raven to let her know everything was fine, but that had been months ago. Raven had caught her up on all the Arkadia news. She and Wick's wedding was the first of October. He was working during the week but came back to the country on weekends. Octavia had gone home, so Bellamy was alone.

Clarke had wanted to ask questions. A million of them. Was Bellamy drinking and smoking again? Bringing women home? Taking care of Crassus? Missing her at all? But she was afraid of the answers.

Hard to believe it was almost the end of July. She painted every day, most times into the night, and other than two portraits of Crassus and several of Tommy, she'd been obsessed with Bellamy. Canvas after canvas leaned against the walls of her bedroom, all in different phases, but none completed. Hands. Torso. Chest. Backside. Frontal view. Half-naked. Totally nude. She drew a deep breath. She should toss them out. Build a bonfire. See if she could burn out her burning desire. Funny. Not funny. Looking at his image and thinking about him was torture. She didn't understand why she did it. Maybe that's why she'd skipped adding his face to any of the paintings. Just couldn't bring herself to look him eye to eye. She'd tried, but each time, pain squeezed the air from her lungs.

She waited for the day that stopped. Then she'd know she was over him. But today wasn't that day.

The motor on the hedge trimmer died and Clarke stepped back to the porch. Callie came across the courtyard. Dressed in white slacks with a hot pink silk blouse, two turquoise cuff bracelets adorned each wrist, and a matching oversized dragonfly pin rested at her throat. Her shoes were orange with sequin owls on the toes. The woman was a palette of color and design. Clarke wished she could get away with that style, but she'd feel like a clown. Probably look like one, too.

Within a minute, Callie tapped on the door, then pushed it open and fluttered into the room like a butterfly searching for a flower. "I saw you looking at Sterling. Have you changed your mind? An orgasm would help your creativity. The furrows between your brows, Chere, well, they tell me you need a man." She swept her hands through the air. "Look at my face. Do you see any lines? No. Because I am not sexually frustrated." As she talked, she moved to the porch to stare at him. "Oh, if I was only ten years younger. I would take him for myself."

Clarke wanted to have that much self-esteem. She shook the notion from her head. "No. I don't want a date but I'd like to paint him, that's why I was watching him."

"Are you sure? Come here."

Clarke went to stand next to her.

Slipping her hand around Clarke's waist, Callie nudged her forward. "Now, focus on his chest. How it glistens in the sun. Concentrate on that pale ring of skin where his jeans ride low. The muscles in his back. How they flex as he works that clipper thing." She turned to face Clarke. "Anything? A tickle? An ache?"

Clarke shook her head. "Nothing."

Callie threw her hands in the air. "You are hopeless! Bring those unfinished canvases."

Clarke left then returned and set them against the wall.

"Spread them out, so I may see your progress."

As Clarke placed the art, Callie clicked her tongue and paced in front of the lineup. "This will not do. I demand you finish each of these. I am giving you two weeks."

"I've tried. Really, I have. I just can't."

"Chere, you are thinking of things the wrong way. You must not dwell on what you've lost, but of what you've gotten." She grabbed her by the shoulders and guided her to stand at the canvas with Bellamy's naked torso. "Do not desire him. Instead, channel that into your creativity. Let your talent catch fire the same way your body did when his breath floated across your skin. Or when he was deep inside you. Allow that passion to come out in your work. I know it is difficult to lose a good lover, but think of the memories you have from the experience."

That was the problem. Clarke couldn't stop thinking about him and the way he'd made her feel. Callie was the one who didn't understand because she didn't fall in love. She took pleasure when she wanted and left it at that. Two nights a week, Clarke saw a guy leave her home. A man in a business suit. "You don't love the gentleman that visits you?"

Callie fluttered her lashes. "No. But I love our time together."

"Is he married?"

"Yes. And with his wife he must be proper and polite. With me, he can be dirty and take my word, Chere, men want that in the bedroom. They like for a woman to tell them what they desire, and when they deliver, they want praise for a job well done. His wife does not know what she is missing."

"You don't feel guilty?"

"Why should I? She doesn't want to be bothered with him. Besides, I'm not trying to take him from her."

"You only have his side of the story and it may not be true."

Callie smiled. "I know it to be true, because I know her. She has her own steady stream of lovers. Enough about me." She pointed her finger. "Two weeks, Chere. Then I want to see some of these sensual paintings finished."

She didn't wait for Clarke to say anything else, she just spun around and disappeared out the door. Clarke swallowed hard and glared at the paintings. Callie was right. Clarke would finish the damn things and be done with Bellamy.

* * *

Bellamy stood on the front porch and knocked back another whiskey. Didn't know how many he'd had. He'd lost count.

Even in the dark, the garden mocked him. Tomatoes dried on the vines. Beans shriveled in the hot sun. Okra plants void of leaves stood as tall as Bellamy. The only things he'd watered were the zinnias and hollyhocks, and that was only because they'd meant so much to Charamel. Didn't have a damn thing to do with Clarke.

He looked down at the almost empty bottle, then turned it up and finished it off. Damn her. Damn the vegetables. He staggered off the porch and headed to the shed. After two tries, he pulled himself into the driver's seat of the tractor, and fired it up. It still had the disc harrow attached which was a good thing because he didn't think he was sober enough to connect farm tools.

He backed out and wheeled around to face the patch, revved the engine, put it in gear, and lowered the blades. After one pass, he swung wide, realigned, and repeated. When he got to the end of the row, light beams flashed toward him. Wick and Octavia stood nearby, in their pajamas and bare feet, both holding flashlights.

He waved to them and made another round.

Yelling, they ran toward him.

He killed the engine.

"What the hell are you doing?" Wick screamed.

Tongue thick, he pushed the words out. "Getting rid of the garden."

"At four o'clock in the damn morning? Have you lost your mind?"

Octavia chimed in, drawing her fluffy bathrobe around her and knotting the sash at the waist. "Yeah, he's lost it, all right. Get off, Bell. Come in the house."

He weaved in the seat and swung his hand in the air. "No, I've got to plow all this under. She's not coming back, and it's her fucking garden. It needs to go. Just like her."

"And what will that prove?" Wick asked. "That you're a jackass? Leave it alone. Come to bed. You haven't slept in days."

Bellamy leaned forward and almost fell from the seat, but grabbed onto the steering wheel. "Where is she, Wick? Raven knows. She's got to."

Octavia and Wick dragged him off the tractor, bracing him to keep from falling.

"She doesn't know. I swear. If she did, I'd tell you."

Bellamy tried to take a step, but his feet were too heavy. "Clarke wanted too much from me."

"Well, you don't have to worry about that now, do you? Got him, Tav?"

"Yeah."

Wick looped Bellamy's other arm around his shoulder as Octavia had done and they maneuvered him inside. "You've got to stop drinking, Bellamy. It's getting out of hand."

"It's my fault, you know. I went to that reward site trying to find out who she was, and that brought the PI here. I fucked up. I fucked up and I can't undo it. She hates me now. Didn't even say goodbye. Nothing." Tears streamed down his face.

"She doesn't hate you."

"Yeah, she does and I deserve it."

"Let's get him onto the couch," Wick said.

They eased him into position and he fell over. "I've got to find her. I don't know how, but I've got to." Wick removed Bellamy's shoes while Octavia propped a pillow behind him and ran a cold hand across Bellamy's forehead, her eyebrows knit together in a frown. She hadn't ever seen him this bad, not when their mom died, or when she visited him in prison and told him Charamel died. He had always tried to be strong to save face for her, that much she knew, and it was as if it had all boiled over into this moment, all that loss and heartache finally reaching a boiling point. Losing someone else, only this time, they left willingly. "We'll help you." She looked over at Wick. "We will, right?"

Wick knelt next to his big brother and patted his cheek. "Octavia's right. We'll help find her, but only if you promise to take care of yourself. Okay?"

Bellamy patted his brother's cheek and tried to look at him, but couldn't. "I love you, Wick. You, too, O. I knew I could count on you. I promise, I'll do better." He closed his eyes.

Wick slapped his face to startle him. "Look at me, Bellamy. Doing better won't cut it. You've got to swear you'll stop this. If you don't, then you're on your own. Understand?"

"Yeah," he said, and wished for another drink.

* * *

 **Thanks for reading! Just a few more chapters left! As always, I love your feedback :) I get paid in reviews.**

 **ALSO: I don't really speak french so if my phrasing is off, feel free to let me know.**


	18. Chapter 18

Clarke slid the blouses across the rod and wondered why she'd agree to a shopping trip. Easy answer. Callie's treat for Clarke finishing the paintings of Bellamy.

The woman got her way about everything. Plus, Callie's late night visitor had stopped visiting, and that had put her in a foul mood.

"Ooh, look at this. It would be beautiful on you, Chere. Sexy even."

Clarke eyed the black embroidered lace mesh peasant top with a sheer mid-drift. She'd never worn anything so revealing, but had to admit, it appealed to her. Maybe some of Callie's style was rubbing off. "It is pretty."

Callie shoved it toward her. "You must try it on. It will be perfect with either skinny jeans or a skirt." She pointed to a nearby table. "Strap on those lace up sandals with the wedge heels, and you'll be the hottest thing around." She turned back to the display. "And this one, too."

Now she flipped a peplum sleeveless royal blue top from front to back to display the sheer insets. What was with her? Everything she selected would show skin.

"You've got all the curves, this will look lovely on you, Chere. Perfect to wear to your friend's wedding."

Clarke snapped her head around. "I told you I'm not going."

"Why? Because your former lover will be there?"

"He'll be there because it's his step brother's wedding, but that isn't the reason." She'd been a blabber mouth during their morning breakfasts. But there was something about Callie that just pulled out information before Clarke knew what was happening. She'd shared too much about Bellamy and everyone else in Arkadia. Well, she'd not told her what city they were in. She wasn't a total fool, but even today, this excursion was out of character, but Callie's power of persuasion won.

"You should wear revealing things while you're young. Soon, you will be old and feel the need to cover most of your body. Liver spots. Crepe skin. Crow's feet. No matter how hard you work to maintain your face, the rest will betray you." She waved her hand in the air. "I know, you think I am being silly. You are so young, but so was I just a few months ago." She giggled. "Time goes so fast, that's why we must grab all the joy we can."

Taking a deep breath and both blouses, Clarke spoke over her shoulder as she headed to the dressing room. "I'll try these on, but I make no promises."

"Your word today is démodé. It means out-of-date. We cannot have you dressing that way. Especially now that I've arranged an exhibit for you at Park Street Gallery."

Clarke spun on her. "What? No! I don't want my work shown. Why did you do that without discussing it with me first?"

"Calm down, Chere. It is your responsibility to share your talent. Your nudes are some of the best I've seen. You will show them. I will not allow you to refuse."

Clarke heaved for breath. She couldn't do this. People would expect the artist to appear. She collapsed onto a sofa and lowered her voice. "No. Callie. You don't understand. I can't make public appearances. I can't sign my work."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "You say that as if it's dangerous. Is it?"

Clarke's throat closed up, so she nodded.

"So, there is more to your story than a broken heart?"

Another nod.

"This lover. Did he mistreat you?"

"No, no. Nothing like that. He was good to me. It's someone else I need to avoid. Please, I can't be in the spotlight."

Callie, ran her thumb over Clarke's cheek to wipe a tear. "I understand, Chere. But that will make the show even more popular. A new artist who insists on remaining a mystery. I love it! I'll arrange everything. No one will know."

* * *

After tossing and turning for most of the night, Clarke got out of bed. Maybe hot chocolate would help her sleep. A stupid thought. Chocolate and sugar. Not a sedative. However, it would make her feel better so why not? What she really needed was something for her nerves. Callie's announcement about the gallery had put her on edge. She poured water into a pan and set it on the burner, then took a cup from the cabinet.

All the way home, Clarke had begged her to cancel the showing, but didn't get her to budge. Okay, she admitted Callie seemed to have the problem worked out. She'd handle all the personal contact. Even so, Clarke should leave. Pack her things, art and all, and call a taxi and get out of Austin. But where would she go? She ripped the cocoa package open and emptied it into the cup, then poured in the water and stirred.

She blew a steady breath across the surface and drank. Closing her eyes, she thought about the time she had left—and Bellamy. God, she hated that he kept popping into her head. She missed him. And Crassus. The treehouse. Working in the garden.

She took a deep breath, swallowed the last of the chocolate, put the cup in the dishwasher, and returned to the canvas she'd started earlier. Might as well make use of her time. She had another oil of Bellamy to finish.

* * *

Two months sober. Bellamy laughed. Shouldn't he get a chip or something for that milestone? Oh yeah. Now he remembered. He didn't think of himself as an alcoholic, just a guy drinking to forget a woman. Well, he should give testimony somewhere because it sure as hell didn't work.

He laid his head back on the chaise and closed his eyes and thought about how Clarke looked the last time he'd seen her. Right before she packed her things and left. If she'd waited he could have fixed everything. Like always, he'd done the wrong thing and now he was suffering the consequences. And since he'd sworn of booze, the nightmares were worse than ever.

He held out the smallest hope she'd show up at Wick and Raven's wedding, but he knew better. Once Clarke committed to something, she kept with it. And she'd damn sure set her head to staying gone.

After all this time, the only lead Bellamy had was Raven's car being found in Dallas. A dead end. From there, he had no idea where to look next. She might still be there.

Crassus raised his head and perked his ears, then Bellamy heard it. He rose from his chair, walked around the end of the house, and found Wells Jaha half-way out of his car. A woman sat inside.

Bellamy adjusted his sunglasses. "What the hell do you want?"

"Thought I'd follow up on the girl."

"Get off my property."

Before Wells answered, the woman got out and walked toward Bellamy. "Mr. Blake, I'm Keenan Mykulak. I practically raised Lark and I need to know if she's okay."

Bellamy knew that to be true. Clarke had told him about her nanny, and her description matched right down to the red hair. "Sorry, can't help you." He turned back toward the house, but she called after him.

"Please, Mr. Blake. We know she was living here. I'd not thought about your grandmother in a long time, but once Wells told me he was coming to Arkadia, I remembered a photo from Mr. Griffin's college days. He and your mother were friends."

Bellamy kept walking and Keenan continued to talk.

"Wells is good at what he does. We know you've been in prison. What I don't know is if she's okay."

Bellamy spun around and jerked his glasses off and clamped his teeth together. "I'd never hurt her."

Keenan put her hand against her throat. "You care about her."

He did. But just like he'd try to tell Clarke, he was not the man for her. Keenan had already judged him unworthy because of his past and he deserved it. He might be innocent of arson, but he was guilty of so much more.

"Like I said. Can't help you." This time he made it to the porch before she spoke again.

"I'll bet she brings out a kindness you didn't even know you had."

No doubt the woman knew Clarke because she was right on every level. He turned back to face her again. "When she left, she was fine. I don't have a clue where she is." Bellamy grabbed the screen door handle and pulled it open.

"I can trace her as far as Waco," Wells said.

Bellamy's heart hammered. He wheeled around to focus on the PI. "How?"

"I had a guy staked out on the main road. If she was here, I figured she'd run. He followed her to Dallas. She ditched the car. Took a bus to Waco, but then he lost her. As far as we can tell, she's still there. Has she contacted you?"

"Why didn't your guy grab her?"

"Hired to find her, not return her. Diana has goons for that."

"Why are you telling me this?"

Wells raised his brows and cocked his head toward Keenan.

Women and their power. Bellamy's stomach knotted like it had every day since Clarke left. "I didn't handle the situation well. I'll be the last person to hear from her."

Keenan folded her arms beneath her ample breasts. "Then what are going to do about that?"

"Nothing I can do."

"Go after her. Find her. Help her."

"Don't you think I would if I could? My family and I have brainstormed about every possible way to locate. No luck. Dallas. Waco. They're big cities. It'd be like looking for a particular fish in the ocean. Thousands of miles. One of me."

"So you're just going to give up?"

"Sorry. I don't have a choice. I appreciate the information but I don't see how it helps." Bellamy opened the door and went inside. Keenan was right. He had to do something but for the life of him, he didn't know what. For the first time in weeks, he wanted a drink. He grabbed the keys to his Harley.

When Bellamy got to the bar, he found the place almost empty. Too early for happy hour. He'd stick with beer and skip the whiskey. He'd have just one drink to think about what his next move should be. He ordered his drink and when the bartender gave it to him, Bellamy headed to a back table. He should be happy about the information the PI had shared, and he was, but it was no help. More than anything, it'd put him in a mood.

Striking out for a big city didn't make sense. If Wells Jaha couldn't find her, what made him think Bellamy could? No, he needed more concrete evidence.

A few tables over, a trio of older guys sat at a table along with three forty somethings dressed too young for their ages. All bright colors and bleached hair made him think of Clarke's cleanup garb. He pulled up the photo on his phone and couldn't help but chuckle. But then he thought about never seeing her again, and his mood darkened again.

Lost in gloom, Bellamy didn't notice the man stagger toward him. The short, skinny dude was almost to the table when Bellamy saw him. He set his bottle down and rolled his eyes up to look at the guy. "S'up?"

"I seen you looking at my woman."

The last thing Bellamy needed was trouble. But that was what this idiot wanted. Reminding himself he wasn't in prison anymore, Bellamy had nothing to prove. "I apologize. She reminded me of someone." No clue which of the three bar-babes the guy referred to, and it didn't make much difference. This nut was looking for a fight.

The redneck's ego deflated. He'd expected a confrontation and got none but he was too sloshed to give up. He raised his voice. "Well, I don't accept your apology. I'm gonna whip your ass."

Every eye in the place focused on the challenger. Bellamy leaned forward, plastered on a smile, but added steel to his voice. "Listen closely. I'm going to give you a way out of this as to not embarrass yourself, but if you don't take it, we'll step outside and I. Will. Put. You. Down." Bellamy scooted his chair from the table, stood, and held his hands up in surrender and spoke loud enough for the guy's friend's to hear. "Again, I sincerely apologize—to you and your lady. I meant no disrespect."

He towered over the wimp by a good six inches and outweighed him by forty pounds. The fool didn't have any muscle probably from spending too much time in here. Bellamy's defined physique came from years of perseverance; he could snap his opponent's neck like a fresh green bean. He just hoped the chump had enough remaining brain power to make the right choice.

And then he saw the sweat glistening on the man's forehead and recognized his expression. Fear. Bellamy backed away and eyed him. "We good?"

He nodded.

It was time to get the hell out this place. All Bellamy had wanted was to enjoy a beer in peace. So much for that. Just as he straddled his Harley, his phone chimed. Raven.

"Hey, future sister-in-law. What's going on?"

"Come to the shop. I need to talk to you."

The tone of Raven's voice worried him. "What's wrong?"

"Are you coming or not?"

"On my way."

It only took fifteen minutes to get there but during that time, Bellamy's mind raced. Was there already trouble in paradise? Wick was living in Baton Rouge during the week and only in Arkadia on weekends. Bellamy wasn't sure the arrangement was a good one, but Raven was busy planning the wedding (and by planning, he meant Octavia was rapidfire texting Raven every five seconds with ideas for flower arrangements and the like) and they still needed to find a house there. Until then, she didn't want Tommy having to change schools.

He came to a stop and dismounted. In three long strides he was at the door. He pushed it open. Raven stood behind the counter looking at her laptop. "Are you in love with Clarke?"

Bellamy shook his head, annoyed. Everyone was getting goddamn repetitive. "What the hell? All the way over here I've been going crazy wondering what you wanted to talk about—and that's it? What damn difference does it make? She left me. Remember?"

"Look, I didn't lie when I said I didn't know where she was, but if I did, I'd need a good reason to tell you. I mean, what would be the use of finding her just to hurt her again. So… do you?"

He tugged at the ends of his curls, pacing in front of her, steam rolling off him in waves. "Damnit, Raven! If you've heard from her, just tell me."

"I haven't, but I still need to know how you feel about her."

Bellamy ran his hand over his face. "Fuck. First the PI comes calling and now this shit. Contrary to what you might think, love doesn't fix every problem in the world. So if you've got something to say, then say it."

"What did the PI want?"

"Said he'd tracked her to Waco, but lost her there."

Raven smiled. "Then it makes sense."

"What?"

"I was clearing out my history this morning on my laptop and during the time Clarke was taking care of the goats, she searched for rental property in Austin. I think that's where she is."

* * *

Clarke spent the morning watching Sterling, the yard hunk, move pumpkins from one place to the next as Callie decided on the perfect placement. Clarke wasn't sure if the woman had really been undecided or just wanted to see Sterling's muscles flex and his jeans dip low as he bent to arrange them.

Whatever the reason, it had paid off because the courtyard looked like an autumn magazine cover for Southern Living.

Clarke refocused on the canvas she'd finished. Sterling was a fine specimen of manhood. She'd gotten to know him over the past few months and it turned out he wasn't the least bit offended to learn she'd been painting his portrait.

Clearly, Callie hoped Clarke would develop more than just artistic interest in him, but that hadn't happened. He was nice, but still nothing tingled or tightened when she was near him. Guess it was a good thing since she'd learned he had a steady girlfriend. Information that had burst Callie's match-making bubble.

She glanced at the lace blouse, leather skirt, and wedge heels Callie had bought her from their one shopping trip. Tonight, Clarke would wear them. Her landlady had some kind of special dinner planned for just the two of them. Clarke had found a beautiful pair of chandelier earrings at the local resale shop that looked great with the outfit.

Closing her eyes, she thought about her birthday. She'd concentrated on hiding out for so long, the soon-to-be freedom frightened her. She'd be able to do anything she wanted without looking over her shoulder. As crazy as it sounded, it would be an adjustment. But she'd have Raven. By then, her friend would live in Baton Rouge. The downside—no doubt Clarke would cross paths with Bellamy at some point. Wasn't sure how she'd handle that. Being in the same room with the love of her life and not being able to touch him would be agony.

She went back outside and eased onto the lounge chair, pulling a blanket around her. Only the middle of September, but colder weather had blown in. The crisp breeze cut at her face and the odor of burning wood tickled her nose. There was something peaceful about a crackling fire. Over the years, she'd enjoyed plenty of evenings in front of Charamel's. She shook the memory away and went back inside. No need to dwell on Arkadia because every time she did, her heart cracked a little more.

* * *

Bellamy had been in Austin for two weeks checking all the ads Clarke had searched on Raven's computer, but so far no luck. Each rental company had pages of properties and no way to know which ones she had considered.

He'd compared what had been available during that time to what had leased since then. Once he made that list, he drove by each location and staked it out until he saw the new tenant. Knowing Clarke, she'd avoid apartment buildings, so he'd concentrated on individual dwellings and duplexes. That narrowed the possibilities but there were still hundreds.

He parked his Harley and went inside the Phoenix's breakfast bar. Staying at a nearby motel with clean rooms but lousy food, he'd found plenty of places to eat. If his search kept up, he'd be a food critic. This place had been a godsend. Locally owned, they offered a buffet with fifteen different bacon flavors. Scratch the critic, he'd be a heart patient.

This morning, vendors were already setting up on the main drag as they did most days in this area. Lots of handmade jewelry, woven bags for both men and women, and plenty of tie-dyed shirts.

Bellamy grabbed a complimentary newspaper from the end of the counter and slid into a booth. Within a few seconds, the waitress came and took his order. While he waited, he scanned the headlines. Texas Book Festival Expecting Record Turnout. Texas Mom Convicted of Manslaughter. Austin Police Body Cameras on Hold.

The server brought his coffee and sashayed away. He folded the paper, laid it aside, and texted Wick. He was working long hours, but loved his job. Clarke had done a good thing because she was a good person. Better than Bellamy deserved. If he'd been honest with her from the beginning, maybe she would have left before—what? She'd fallen in love with him?

Thirty minutes later, he finished his pancakes and fought the urge to smoke a cigarette. Following a meal was when he wanted one the most. Would the craving ever go away? He wondered that about Clarke, too. Would he ever stop wanting her? He didn't think so.

He slid across the plastic seat, his arm knocking the newspaper to the floor. As he gathered the sections, something caught his eye. He sat again and held up the full page of artwork. Park Gallery Host Anonymous Artist. There in the center of the page in all his glory, Bellamy's nude body. His face was in shadow, along with his cock, but the scar on his belly proved it was him. Holy Shit.

He read. Board chairman, Callie Cartwig, discovered the local talent. Blah, blah, blah. The artist who wishes to remain a mystery has caused quite a stir among our critics. Blah, blah, blah. Located on Congress Avenue. His heart hammered.

It didn't take long to find the address, and he angled into a spot in front. A park next door looked like a good place to wait until the gallery opened. His insides jumped. He'd found her. Really found her. He couldn't believe it. But something wasn't right. She'd never agree to go public with her paintings. Not while she was still hiding. Why didn't he bring the paper? What was the woman's name?

God, he wasn't thinking straight. He palmed his phone and pulled up today's edition. Callie Cartwig. With a few more clicks, there was her address.

The lights came on in the building. Once inside, he wandered from painting to painting. It was if he'd fallen into a dream. Canvases of his hands, shoulders, backside, which he admitted looked good with how she'd shaded it, hung on every wall.

"It's beautiful work, isn't it?"

Bellamy turned to face a young bright-eyed blonde. "Yeah."

The woman placed her palm against her windpipe and got all dreamy-eyed. "Every stroke is so intimate. Almost erotic. Clearly the artist is in love with the model." The girl trailed the line of his scar in the air. Then snapped out of her trance. "Look at his hands. So detailed. Every vein. The way the cuticles hug the nails."

Without thinking, Bellamy held his out and stared at them.

The girl gasped. "Oh. My. God. It's you! You're the model."

He shook his head. "No. No. I'm not. I imagine most men have similar hands."

Now she narrowed her eyes and clasped his fingers. "It's you all right. The same constellation of freckles. Wait here. Mr. Park will want to meet you."

As soon as the girl disappeared, so did Bellamy. Didn't want to risk her ripping his shirt open to prove her point.

As he drove away, he thought about his next move. He wanted to rush over to the Cartwig address and see if Clarke was there, but that wasn't the best strategy. He was on his bike and she could spot him. No, he needed to rent a car. That way he'd blend in. Modern term for his plan—stalking.

His motivation was different. For all he knew, this Callie person had stolen Clarke's work and put it in a gallery. There was something going on that made no sense. He needed to find out what that was before he charged in like the Calvary.

By five o'clock, everything was in place. He'd rented a car, returned to the motel, showered and dressed in the new clothes he'd bought. God, he was like a teenager going on a first date. But showing up road-weary wouldn't help his cause. Not if he wanted to make things right between them. Apologize and confess. That's what he had to do. But once he did, she might never want to see him again. Couldn't blame her. He'd pushed her away. Refused to admit his feelings for her. The thought stopped him. He'd denied it too long.

He loved her.

The realization both knocked the air out of his lungs and felt like an anchor lifting from his chest. He spent so much time trying to convince Clarke, and hindsight, himself, that he didn't have feelings for her beyond feeling responsible for her. It took her leaving Arkadia to make him realize just how wrong he was.

He found a spot with a clear view but far enough down the street not to be noticed. The tinted back windows of the Camry rental, provided good cover. A courtyard separated the main house from a garage apartment. This was the kind of place Clarke would choose. She was here. He could feel it.

It was almost six when a redhead came out onto the balcony of the apartment. The girl was dressed all in black. Typical, but too modern for Clarke. Bellamy's heart sank. He was too far away to get a good view. She dropped into a chair and pulled a blanket around her. After a few minutes, she went back inside. He wished he'd bought binoculars.

A half-hour later, she came down the steps and walked through the courtyard to the main house. Definitely Clarke. His mouth went dry. All he had to do was wait.

* * *

The suspense was killing Clarke, but she suffered through the meal until Callie was ready to make whatever dramatic announcement she had planned. It must be something big because she'd gone all out. Caterers served each course as if she and Callie were dining in a Paris restaurant. For dessert, she'd had her choice of Raspberry Macarons, Apple Galette, or Crêpes Suzette. Unable to decide, Clarke took one of each. If she ate like this all the time, she'd weigh a ton.

The server popped the cork on a bottle of champagne.

Callie smiled at Clarke. "I know you don't drink much, but this is a special occasion."

The waiter poured and Callie raised her glass in a toast. "Chere, you have been invited to exhibit two of your paintings to the Polaris Gallery in New York City. Congratulations! This is quite the accomplishment, and I could not be prouder." She clinked her glass against Clarke's.

She'd intended to sip as not to be rude, but now, she gulped, and offered her glass to be refilled. Once it was, she drained the glass in one long swig. "I don't know what to say."

"Merci, will suffice. This is the beginning of a wonderful career for you, Chere, and I am just so happy to be a small part of it."

Clarke didn't want to be ungrateful, but she'd never wanted this. "Yes, Merci. Which paintings and when will they show?"

"Not until January. A new career in the New Year. So wonderful!" Callie rose and twirled, her chiffon caftan fluttering like a butterfly emerging its chrysalis. "They want the full frontal and back nudes. I think you should send the one from your bedroom."

Clarke choked on her third drink. "No! It's for my eyes only. I hate that you have seen it." It was the one of Bellamy lying in the hay the morning after.

"I understand. It was merely a suggestion. Do you feel okay? You look a little pale."

"It's the champagne. I'm not used to drinking. I should go home."

Callie cupped Clarke's elbow. "Yes. You will feel better tomorrow."

As Clarke walked across the courtyard, she wanted to scream. At least the exhibit didn't start until January. By then, she'd be in Baton Rouge running Griffin Steel and it would be fine for the world to know her as an artist. Even so, the attention would be too much. People not only judging her work, but assessing her, too.

Dizzy from the alcohol and the news, she passed the last pile of pumpkins and stepped to the bottom of her stairway. Breath rushed from her lungs.

"Bellamy."

* * *

 **Told you I wouldn't make you suffer for long. Much. Sorry for the cliffhanger, but hey, at least now they're back?**

 **I seriously can't wait for season two the more we hear about it. Just have a little over a week to go! Who else misses Miller's beanie though?**

 **As always, thanks to those who left comments, I always love reading them and it always brings a smile to my face. Reviews are how we get paid.**


	19. Chapter 19

**a/n: mature themes ahead (aka sexy times ahead). Also, tooth rotting fluff.**

* * *

An hour earlier, when Clarke disappeared into the house, all Bellamy could do was wait and rehearse what he'd say to her.

The wind picked up and scattered leaves from beneath the maple trees lining the street creating a swirl of red. It wouldn't be long until the weather turned cold for good and he'd thought about lying in front of the fireplace with her curled against him. But what if she didn't want him anymore? Served him right. He'd put stupid rules in place, but they'd been for her protection.

He glanced at his watch, got out of his car, and ambled across the street. Shrubs hid the view of the stairway from the main house, and he settled on the second step. A catering van sat in the drive, so they must be having a party. There were no sounds of music, laughter or conversation but that didn't mean anything. It could be a small gathering. Shit. Clarke might even have a date. She was dressed for one.

He texted Wick and Octavia. Wanted them to know he'd found her and promised an update later. Then he turned off his phone so he wouldn't have any interruptions once he had her alone.

From across the way, a door closed. Footfalls. A cadence he recognized. He sucked air into his lungs as she rounded the corner, then eyed her from head to toe, trying to make her plain, back at the farmhouse in jeans, digging in the dirt, planting flowers. No luck. Not with the bottled auburn hair, fashionable clothes, and dangling earrings. She wasn't Clarke Montgomery anymore, not as he knew her. She was Lark Griffin. Beautiful. Sophisticated. Rich. And he wasn't good enough.

"Bellamy." Her hand flew to her chest. "What are you doing here?"

"You left without saying goodbye." His voice cracked.

Her breath hitched. "There wasn't time." Unsteady, she grabbed onto the railing.

Even in the dim light, he saw how pale she was and wanted to touch her. Feel the softness of her. Have her arch against him as he buried deep inside her. Whisper his name. Beg him for more. "Are you okay?"

"Champagne went to my head."

"You've been drinking?" He frowned, trying to align this girl with the one he knew in his head.

"A little. But I'm all right. Let's go inside."

He turned for her to pass, and the closeness made him dizzy. She pushed open the door and stepped in with him right behind. "You really shouldn't leave your place unlocked. Never know when an ex-con might show up on your doorstep."

She faced him. "Are you being sarcastic?"

"Yeah. You're getting good at recognizing that." He scanned the room, his eyes settling on the painting of a half-naked man. A young, handsome dude. Clean cut. Looked to be about her age. Bellamy leaned down and studied the guy's cuticles. Hell, he couldn't tell if they hugged his fingernails or not. He nodded toward the canvas. "Somebody important to you?"

"He mows the lawn."

"But, you'd like him to be important?" Bellamy straightened his shoulders and prayed for the right answer. What if she didn't want him anymore? Or worse—didn't love him. She'd never said the words because he'd not allowed it. His stupid rules. But she'd told Raven, and women told their best friends things they didn't share with anyone else, so it had to be true. But now?

"No." She turned away but not before Bellamy saw a tear roll down her cheek. He wanted to grab on to her and never let her go. Tell her what a jerk he'd been. How he'd finally come to his senses and realized he loved her. But not before he got everything off his chest.

She walked into the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink? All I have is water."

What he wanted most was to get her naked and fuck her into next week, but that wasn't a great opening line. He shoved his hands into his pockets, and began. "It's my fault the PI found you, and I'm sorry. Curiosity got the best of me, but I should have waited until you were ready to tell me about yourself."

"It's okay. I don't blame you." She sounded like she meant it.

He rocked back on his heels. "Well, I do, and I'll never forgive myself for it."

She took a glass from the cabinet and filled it, gulped, wiped at her eyes, then faced him again, her gaze sweeping over him like it was the first time she saw him. Maybe it was. "You look terrible. What's wrong?"

He pulled his hands from his pockets and gave a slow shake of his head. "Everything."

Rushing to him, she took his face in her hands and gazed up at him. "I love you. I know you don't want me to and I've tried not to but I can't help it. I kept telling myself if I could make a whole day without thinking about you it would mean I was getting over you. But it's been 152 days and it hasn't happened yet."

Damn. He'd been doing the same thing for a hell of a lot longer than that. He'd argued with himself about how wrong it was on so many levels. She had no business falling for him. An ex-con would never fit in with her rich friends. But the most important reason was the deal breaker. He couldn't meet her eyes. "Once you know me, you won't love me."

She searched his face. "But I do know you."

For a moment, he didn't say anything, but confession was supposed to be good for the soul, and God knew Bellamy's soul was in trouble. Like a man about to be hanged, the secret tightened around his throat. Other than Murphy, no one knew the truth. "No you don't. I—I murdered a man, Clarke. And it wasn't self-defense. I thought about it. Planned it. Watched him die. And even now, after all this time, the only regret I have is that I can't kill him again. I'm glad he's dead."

Her gaze didn't waver and there wasn't a hint of judgement in her eyes. "Is that what your nightmares are about?"

He rested his forehead against hers. "Yes."

"Was he the one who gave you the scar?"

The memory flashed through his mind as vivid as if it happened yesterday. Dax Pittman. Inmate #05132162. Bellamy had everything about the guy memorized. Every tattoo, scar, blemish. He'd never hated anyone the way he'd hated Dax. Not even Shumway for putting him in that hell hole to begin with. Bellamy swallowed hard. "Yeah."

She wrapped her arms around him, and rested her head on his chest. "Then I'm glad he's dead, too."

He'd opened up to her and she'd not batted an eye. She was the one person who'd seen him at his worst and now knew his darkest secret, yet she loved him anyway. How could she overlook everything he'd done and still find good in him? The part that wanted to take care of her. Protect her. Love her. He pulled away and took her hands in his. "Marry me."

She stumbled backwards. "What?"

"Marry me."

"I heard the investigator, and I know you're trying to save me, but I only have a few more weeks, then I'll be home free."

His stomach jumped into his throat. Everything he'd denied for so long crashed down on him with an unbearable force bringing the truth with it. "I'm not trying to save you. I need you to save me."

"From who?"

"Myself."

There. He'd gotten it all out. Almost. "I'm a selfish prick because I know you'd be better off with someone else. But without you that old house has been more of a prison than Huntsville ever was. I'm suffocating, Clarke. I don't want to wake up another day knowing I can't see you. Touch you. Hear your fucking word-of-the-day. But being with me won't be easy. Everyone will use me against you. They'll say you're crazy to tie yourself to an ex-con. Claim I only want you for your money. You're going to be hurt, and it'll be my fault. But I love you so damn much. I know…"

She pressed her hand to his mouth. "Stop talking." Then she kissed him. Long. Hard. Hot. Lust ripped through him with as much force as the jagged knife Dax had used. Bellamy had been without her too long. She was still Clarke. Soft and warm and giving and his. Desperate to have her, be inside her, with her, he slid his hands to the button of her skirt, undid it and then the zipper. "Get rid of this."

She stepped back enough to let the garment pool at her ankles, kicked out of it, then grabbed the hem of her blouse and stripped it off. She wasn't wearing a bra and the sight of those perfect tits caused his cock to jump. God, it felt like years since he'd touched her, tasted her, held her, he wanted to do everything at once.

He slid his hands to her hips and nudged her until she bumped the counter. "Keep the shoes." Her breath caught and he kissed her, licking into her hot, wet, mouth. She shivered, and he spun her around, pulled her backside tight against him, and whispered in her ear. "Ease your panties down slowly." Damn, there was something about watching lace slide off her sweet ass that tore him up inside. His balls drew so high and tight, he thought they might pop out the top of his head.

Once she was naked, he turned her to face him again, dropped to his knees, and picked up her panties, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. "Wet."

Her breath came in heavy gasps. She widened her stance, threaded her fingers through his hair and urged him forward. "Please, Bellamy."

God, he loved it when she begged. He blew a hot breath across her center, and raised to flick the belly button ring with his tongue. "I'm glad you kept this."

She pressed down on his shoulders.

He chuckled. Then kissed one inner thigh, then the other, palmed her hips with both hands, brought her to his mouth, and licked into her.

She whimpered the breathy sound he loved so much. The one that told him she liked what he was doing. God, he'd missed that. Dreamed about it. He paused and looked up at her. "Watch me."

She struggled for breath. "What?"

"Don't take your eyes off me until you come." Then he went back to work.

Clarke tried to pull air into her lungs, but only managed to half fill them. He loved her. Loved her. Maybe not at first, but now, he loved her, and that's all that mattered. She tried to pinpoint when things changed between them. When he'd started loving her, but couldn't concentrate on anything but the sound of his moans as he tasted her. And when he brought her leg over his shoulder to go deeper, she stopped watching because her eyes rolled back in their sockets. A second later, he withdrew and hit the right spot because he had her body memorized inside and out. She'd never understand how he did that.

She leaned her elbows on the counter and gripped the edge, because her legs had turned to rubber. Low in her stomach, it began to build and build and build. She braced for impact and came hard. As the orgasm gripped her, he didn't stop the torture. He gave her only a few seconds to recover, then sucked her into his mouth and a second wave of pleasure hit her with such force, every muscle in her body stiffened, while her bones turned to liquid.

Struggling for breath, he rested his forehead against her belly. "Oh God, Clarke. I've missed you so fucking much. I love you. Please don't ever leave me again."

"I won't."

He rose and took her in his arms. Neither of them spoke, but he was hard and she needed to do something about that. Pulling away, she slipped her hand in his and led him to the bedroom. No need to turn on the light, the lights streaming through the windows from the courtyard provided enough.

When they reached the edge of the bed, she unbuttoned his pants, pulled down the zipper, and let him take over. While he got rid of his clothes, she removed her shoes. She pushed him down on the mattress and stood between his legs. Now it was her turn to drop to her knees. She'd never done this before, but she'd thought about it.

He looked down at her and raised his brows. "Clarke?"

"I want you in my mouth."

He laughed and leaned back to rest on his elbows and grinned at her. "Have at it."

She closed her fingers around it, licked the tip like an ice cream cone, and he must have liked it because he growled. Then she swirled her tongue, and he moaned. She glanced up. He had his eyes fixed on her. She stopped. "Do you have to watch?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Because I want to."

"I wish you wouldn't. It's my first time and I'm not going to be good at it, and it makes me uncomfortable."

He chuckled. A low rumble in his chest. She thought about calling it off, but his eyes were dark and dilated and set on her. Then he spoke. "Just so you know, there's no such thing as a bad blow job, unless you bite it off. But if you want, I won't look."

"Okay." She brought it to her lips and took more of it this time. He arched into her and she got her rhythm. Slow at first, then faster. A mixture of growls and moans and some other sound she'd never heard him make before came from deep inside him.

He fisted her hair gently, his nails lightly scratching at her scalp. "Stop, stop, Clarke or it'll be too late." He jerked her mouth free and lifted her to straddle him.

"I want to feel you." The timbre of his voice turned her insides to jelly. He placed his hands on her hips and she loved the roughness of them.

She lifted her head and kissed him. His lips were soft and warm and she squirmed to get closer to him.

Bellamy pulled her sideways onto his lap. She twined her arms around his neck, exploring his mouth with her tongue. He tasted of coffee. His hands moved over her body, lightly tickling her, making her skin tingle everywhere he touched. When his hands maneuvered her thighs so that she was straddling him, she wiggled against him. When she rocked down against him a second time, he grasped her and flipped over, trapping her under him. He groaned above her; kissed his way down her neck and along her collarbone, his fingers trailing over the skin of her back.

Her legs instinctively wrapped around him, her hips arching up. The contrast between Bellamy's heat and the slight breeze filtering in through the windows was dizzying, and a rush of sensation ignited her down to her bones.

He kissed her again, differently this time; put everything he had into this kiss: desire, admiration, uncertainty, lust… love. She kissed back with equal fervor, and Bellamy felt himself teeter on the brink of a great chasm that was black and unknown.

"You're beautiful, Clarke," he murmured against her skin, pulling back to roam his eyes over her body.

"So are you," she said, utterly sincere.

He laughed softly, the sound resonating deep in his throat, and then lowered his head to kiss her.

One of his hands ran down her chest, over her stomach, and down to the juncture between her thighs.

Clarke gave a small moan of approval into his mouth, willing his fingers to continue.

Bellamy's lips left hers and trailed down her neck and body. Every part of her body was hot now. The scent of her arousal mixed with the floral lotion she used on her legs was a heady combination. He traced circles along her inner thighs with his tongue until she began to squirm, lapped up her essence with his tongue, savoring the taste as Clarke quivered and moaned at his ministrations.

Her muscles started to tense.

Even her thigh muscles started to shake.

Her body went from heated to aflame, and her muscles tightened and released, sending currents of pleasure coursing through her. Bellamy's mouth remained, drawing out the pleasure. When her breathing evened out, he gently pushed himself back across the bed, settling in the cradle of her hips.

"Clarke." Her name fell from his lips as both a groan and a hiss of pleasure.

One of his hands was wrapped in her hair, the other dipped to the curve of her back. She mouthed at the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder, felt his muscles shift as he moved. Seconds later his arm snaked over her back and through her legs. She gasped in surprise and rocked into him.

She clung to his shoulders, and then he leaned back and lifted her hips, wrapping her legs around his hips. He thrust in, and she cried out.

"You alright?" Bellamy murmured.

"Mmm," she whimpered, no longer capable of speech. With each movement, he was hitting a spot that ignited sensations she didn't know she was capable of.

As he increased speed, she stopped thinking entirely, frantically kissing him everywhere she could reach - his neck, his chin, his ear. Her hands slid over his back, tracing her fingers over the play of his muscles. "I wanna," she panted, "be on top."

He smiled indulgently, gripping her to him to roll them over, taking a moment to rearrange her legs. Clarke moved tentatively, trying to recapture the rhythm. He was beginning to feel quivery; had trouble keeping them moving together. Above him, Clarke felt her muscles tense and release.

She shivered in pleasure, and then Bellamy's hands moved to her hips.

"Lean forward."

She leaned forward and Bellamy thrust in earnest, the muscles in his arms tensing beneath her fingers.

He cried out, his eyes closed, and Clarke watched his face change, feeling powerful and tender at the same time as she collapsed on his chest.

He was breathing hard, and there was a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. When he pulled out, Clarke grabbed at him, feeling a sense of loss, wanting to keep him there with her.

Something warm and wet was dripped between her legs. Bellamy pulled a towel off the nightstand and tenderly wiped her clean. In that moment, she would have done anything for him. He reached over and drew her to his side, nestled her into the crook of his arm.

"You alright?" He trailed his fingers up and down her spine, raising goosebumps.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"The blow-job."

"I liked it."

He chuckled. "Good to know."

She tried to roll off him, but he held her in place. "No, don't do that. I need to stay inside you as long as I can."

She rested her head on his chest listening to his heart and loving the way his fingers felt against her drew a sharp breath. "With practice, I'll get better at fellatio."

He laughed so hard the bed bounced. "Damn, Clarke. I never know what's going to come out of that sexy mouth of yours."

She raised to look at him. "You think my mouth is sexy?"

"Baby, I think everything about you is sexy. Kiss, touch, lick—all perfect because you're perfect." He brought her hand to his lips. "You're the best thing in my life. All I want. All I think about. You never gave me an answer, but you'll marry me, right?"

"Are you crazy? Yes, I'll marry you."

"You got ID with your real name? To be legal, I've got to marry Lark Griffin."

"I haven't used that name in so long, it sounds funny."

"You can keep it, you know."

"I don't understand."

"Griffin connects you to your company, so if you don't want to take my name, I'll understand."

She ran her fingers across his lips. "I want your name. I'm also changing my name to Clarke." She paused momentarily. "Do you have a dollar?"

"In my wallet. Why?"

She jumped out of bed, retrieved the billfold from his pants and handed it to him. "Give me one."

He pulled his brows together, but slid the money out and offered it.

"She took it and folded it neatly, then placed it on her side table. "Now, it's Griffin-Blake Steel."

* * *

 **Thanks for reading, we in the home run with just 4 more chapters left. As always, I love your feedback. I get paid in reviews :)**


	20. Chapter 20

**Warning: sexy times ahead.**

* * *

Bellamy sat straight up in bed and couldn't believe what she'd said. Sex affected her in ways he didn't understand. Give her an orgasm, she gives him a company. "Not a good idea, Clarke."

"Why not?"

She looked so wide-eyed and innocent and he wanted her again. It would have to wait because he needed to set her straight. "Weren't you paying attention when I said people will judge you?"

She folded her arms and frowned. "I don't care."

"Well, I do. Besides, think about your dad. He'd never want you to give part of your legacy away. Especially not to me."

"He…"

Bellamy held up his hand. "Not right now. Now come to bed."

She flopped next to him. "You're so bossy."

He reached for his pants and she groaned. "Stay naked."

He smiled. "I am, but I have something for you. He reached inside his pocket, then settled beside her again. "It isn't much, but it belonged to Charamel, so I hope the sentiment means more than a price tag."

She shook her head. "I'm not a typical rich kid."

He took her hand and gazed into her eyes. "I know. Let's make this official." Bellamy slipped the ring onto her finger and she held it up in the dim light. Damn thing was so small, it didn't sparkle much, but she stared at it like it was The Great Star of Africa.

"It fits perfectly. Like it should be mine. I love it." A moment later, she graced him with the same euphoric smile that he imagined Aphrodite had worn as she emerged from the sea foam of Cyprus.

He cleared his throat. "Later, I'll buy you something bigger. Say, maybe for our first anniversary."

She reached over and switched on the bedside lamp, then poised her hand in midair. "It's beautiful. I don't remember ever seeing Charamel wear this."

"After Pops died, she put it away. The middle stone is from her original engagement ring. He had it remounted in the circle of diamonds for their twenty-fifth anniversary. It'll have to pull double duty for now, but later, we'll have a custom band done. Whatever you want."

"No," she stared at the band, simple, but perfect. "I love it."

From the corner of his eye, Bellamy caught a glimpse of the painting on the opposite wall. "Holy shit!"

Clarke jumped at the outburst. "What?"

He pointed. "I thought you said the picture you took in the barn was for your eyes only. Damn, Clarke. You've painted me in living color on—what is that, a five foot canvas?"

"Yeah."

He ran his hand over his face. Something about seeing himself naked and mounted on a wall made him uneasy. He thought the exhibit paintings were bad but this was pornographic. "Thank God you didn't include this in the gallery."

"You've been to Park Street?"

"It's how I found you. Well, one of the ways."

She clutched her throat. "Tell me. Because if you found me, then Diana can, too."

He wrapped her in his arms. "It's okay. No one can touch you." For the next few minutes, he gave her the details of how he'd come to Austin and fate had intervened. That's all it could have been. He'd had little clues but someone upstairs made sure they'd been enough. Probably Charamel.

Clarke shook her head. "Keenan was with the investigator? I can't believe she'd help him."

"I think she's helping you and that's why he gave you a head start, and then came back to point me in the right direction."

She turned to face him and narrowed her eyes. "Why would he do that?"

Bellamy pulled his lips tight against his teeth and sucked air. "From the way he looked at her, I'd say there's something going on between them."

"Oh. I guess that's possible."

"Yeah." He pointed to the painting again. "Now, about that. You've got to get rid of it."

"Why? It's art. I like it. And it helps when I—never mind."

"When you what?"

"Nothing."

Well, well. His voice sounded rough even to his own ears. "You look at it while you get yourself off, don't you?"

She frowned. "There's nothing wrong with that."

Not a sign of embarrassment. He thought about the first time he met her. Naked in the tub. She'd been shameless that night. He didn't think she had either emotion. But he did, and no way in hell he'd take a chance on the world seeing him in full naked technicolor. The shadowed paintings were bad enough, but this one showed everything in living color. Even if it helped her get off. He took a second to imagine that. "I'd like for you to put privacy aside and let me watch."

"Why?"

"Because it'd turn me on."

Her eyes tracked south. "You're already turned on just talking about it."

He brushed his lips over hers. "Just promise you'll let me watch sometime."

She shoved him playfully.

"Okay. Back to the painting. There isn't a single place you can hang that thing without the risk of someone seeing it. Think about it. Would you want Raven or Harper or someone to see my junk? I don't." He rose from the bed and moved to the artwork.

Clarke laughed.

He jerked toward her. "What's so funny?"

"You, standing next to it. I did a really good job."

Bellamy looked down at himself, then the canvas. "Yeah, you did." He went back to bed and spooned her close. "We need to go to sleep. Got a lot of miles tomorrow. We'll get our license, and since there's a three day waiting period, you can use that time to plan the wedding."

She snuggled into him. "I want to go home."

"To Baton Rouge?"

"No. To Arkadia."

He raised her face to his and kissed her. "Do you have any idea how happy you make me?"

"No."

"You saved me, Clarke. For the longest time I didn't care about anybody but myself and Octavia, and even Wick a little. Trust, compassion, love— well, those words weren't in my vocabulary. You've given all that back to me."

She trembled in his arms.

He pulled her tighter. "Don't cry. I promise not to say anymore mushy shit."

"I like the mushy shit."

Bellamy didn't say anything else. Just held her until she drifted to sleep, loving how she felt in his arms. Finally, his world made sense and he wasn't about to let anyone take that away.

* * *

The next morning, Clarke opened her eyes and stared at her husband-to-be. Before she met him, the men in her fantasies had never looked like Bellamy. They'd been smaller, prettier, sophisticated. But here she was, hopelessly in love with a man who made her quiver at the sight of him. Even with all her quirks, he claimed to love her. And she believed him.

Offering half of the company had been a test, and even now, she wondered what she would have done if he'd accepted. Send him away? No. Not in a million years. She loved him too much. But he was right. Everyone would think he was after her money. Why else would he marry her? Well, she didn't care what people thought.

She slipped out of bed, made a trip to the bathroom, took care of business, then brushed her teeth, and slid in next to him again.

He rolled over to face her and pulled her close. "Haven't changed your mind, have you?"

"About what?"

"Marrying me."

"No. Why would I?"

"Just thought once you slept on it, you might have reconsidered."

"Never. Now, go brush your teeth because I want to have sex."

He chuckled.

"Why is that funny?"

"You're so direct."

"Is that bad? If it is, just tell me how you want me to say it and I will."

"No, baby. I like it, but you can send me the same message without saying anything." He took her hand and moved it south. "Kiss me or touch me right here, and it'll be pretty clear what you want. But the direct approach works too." He pushed away from her. "I need a shower. Come with me."

Bellamy brushed his teeth while the water warmed, then stepped into the spray pulling Clarke in with him, wrapped her in arms and kissed her. That's all it took. Everything about her ached with need. Tingled. Tightened. Clenched. Wetted. She ran her fingers over his lips. "Mine."

He took a ragged breath. "Yeah."

Hungry for him, she trailed her mouth across his chest, scraping her teeth over his nipples, then whispered against his wet skin. "Mine."

This time he moaned his affirmation.

She clasped her fingers around his erection. "All mine."

"God, yes," he grunted, his voice strangled and wrecked. Then he kissed her hard. Licked her throat. Bit her shoulder. His words echoed in her head. And she got lost—in the heat—in him—because he belonged to her. "Yours."

He slid his hand down her belly. Slipped his fingers between her legs, then inside her, stroking her.

Oh, yes. Don't stop. And he didn't. He knew what to do. Where to go. It was only moments until she came undone.

He didn't give her time to recover. Instead, he spread her legs wider and pushed inside her, and she arched to take all of him. He pulled her hips away from the wall, angled her just right, and pushed deeper.

She loved how he made sure she climaxed every time. And she did. Sometimes so hard she thought she'd shatter. Oh God. There it was. Like riding a roller coaster. Climb. Climb. Climb, Plunge. Her body jerked, and she went mindless.

He buried his face in the crook of her neck.

An hour later, Clarke held Bellamy's hand as they walked across the courtyard. After what they'd done in the shower, the simple gesture shouldn't be so intimate, but it was. He threaded his fingers in hers without hesitation.

Callie's eyes widened as she opened the door. "Come in, Chere." Then she zeroed in on Bellamy and took him in from top to bottom, hesitating at his crotch. She smiled and lifted her gaze to his face. "Encore plus délicieux en personne."

Bellamy looked at Clarke and raised a brow.

"Even more delicious in person." Clarke smiled and translated.

"You speak French?"

"Yes. Bellamy, this is Callie Cartwig."

Bellamy frowned probably because he knew Callie had seen his haystack portrait. "Nice to meet you."

He offered his hand, and she latched onto it until Clarke gave her the evil eye. "I came to tell you I'm leaving."

"No! Chere. You must not go."

"I'm sorry, but I have things to take care of. I promise I'll return in a few weeks and go public with my art."

"So you and Bellamy have reconciled, yes?"

Bellamy slipped his arm around Clarke's waist. "We have, but I'll make sure she comes back."

"Very well, Chere. If you must. Your rent is paid for two more months. I will expect to see you before then."

When they got back to the apartment, Bellamy helped Clarke gather her things. With so little to pack, it didn't take long. She couldn't help but laugh when he shoved his portrait under the bed.

"You don't think Callie will take this to Park Street while you're gone, do you?"

"No, she won't." She didn't tell him that if Callie found it, it would be sitting upon a mantle in the front room for anyone to see.

He shook his head. "I hope to hell you're right."

Clarke changed the sheets while he made a call. Stuffing the dirty linens into a trash bag, she tied it. No time to do laundry and she didn't want to leave the place smelling like sex. As he came back inside, she handed him the sack. "Would you put this in the outside trash can, please?"

"Sure. Hey, I came to Austin on my bike, but I rented a car, so we'll drive it home. I can return it in Breaux Bridge, but I'll need to arrange storage for the Harley."

"No need for that. Let's ride it."

"You serious?"

"I've never ridden a motorcycle. It'll be fun."

"Are you sure? It's a long trip."

She was good with that. He wouldn't be able to talk to her and that should give her enough time to figure out a way to convince him to live in Baton Rouge.

* * *

Relief washed over Clarke when the county clerk didn't recognize the name, Lark Griffin, and the subsequent name change to Clarke. Bellamy had been right. The missing heiress was old news and no one remembered.

At nine-thirty, Bellamy drove the Camry into the lot at the rental place and reclaimed his Harley. He stuffed the paperwork into the saddlebag and secured her duffle with a bungee cord. He handed her the only helmet, then straddled the seat, and her heart kicked up at the memory how those strong thighs had boxed her in hours earlier.

She eyed the bike from front to back. "What kind is this?" She didn't care about the answer. Only wanted time to work up the courage to actually get on the metal monster.

He grinned. "Street Glide Chopper. It's badass, right?"

Clarke swallowed hard. This might have been a bad decision on her part. The machine had appeared harmless enough parked at the farmhouse, but now that she was standing next to all that black metal and chrome, it looked dangerous. Like the rider. "Yeah. Badass."

He cut his dark eyes over at her and his mouth quirked up. "We're ready to roll. You ready to ride?"

She pulled the helmet on, took her place behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

"Hold on, baby." The engine came to life, and he shot out of the parking lot onto the highway.

She yelped, tightened her grip, and felt his laughter vibrate against her chest. He was testing her, or trying to scare her. She wasn't sure which. Clarke Montgomery wouldn't be fazed, but Clarke Griffin's stomach spiraled. She was anything but a biker chick.

He took the ramp onto the interstate and weaved in and out of traffic with such ease, it was like a choreographed dance with him leading. The wind tore at his hair, whipping strands at the nape of his neck.

As soon as he got out of the city, he took the first exit onto a state highway. Apparently, he was taking the scenic route. Fine by her. Having her arms wrapped around him, feeling the muscles in his back flex against her, and the vibration between her legs, turned out to be a good combination.

As they rode, she let her mind drift to planning the wedding—and facing Diana. As soon as Clarke got home, she'd find a dress online and have it shipped overnight. Bellamy would need a suit. She closed her eyes and thought back to the banquet and how handsome he'd been dressed up. But he looked good in everything—and nothing. Especially nothing.

Her thoughts bounced around between style, fabric, flowers, and cake. Even with a simple ceremony, tradition was important. Lace. She wanted a dress with lace. She could wear her mothers, but it was in storage. Becca had a key to the place, but she might not find it among all the other stuff. But she needed to contact her and ask her to give her away. Other than Keenan, Becca was the closest person she had to family.

She shook her head. This would be more complicated than she first thought. Whatever she decided, news of her pending nuptials had to be kept secret.

Facing Diana didn't frighten Clarke anymore because she had Bellamy now. One look at him and Diana would know she'd met her match. Like when Dad was alive. Diana never crossed him but she had no reason. He gave her everything she wanted until he got too sick to care.

A lump formed in Clarke's throat. She hated her step-mother with good reason. Had it not been for Keenan, Dad would have never known about Diana's affairs. The trainer. The pool boy. The tennis pro. By now, surely she'd set her sights higher. Those guys wouldn't make enough money in their lifetime to satisfy the gold digger. No, she at least needed a CEO.

Clarke couldn't help but smile thinking about the woman's reaction to Bellamy. Shock wouldn't describe it. Weird little Clarke married to an ex-con. Bellamy was right about that, too. Her stepmother would use it against her. Especially with the company's board members, but Clarke was ready for a fight. Because he and the company were worth fighting for, and she intended to keep them both.

Bellamy stopped at a red light and jarred her back to the present.

He leaned into her. "You doing okay?"

"Yes." The word echoed against the helmet like being in a well. The light changed and this time he eased back onto the road before picking up speed.

Town after town flew by. Some smaller than Arkadia. Clarke tried to concentrate on her surroundings because she'd never been in this part of Louisiana. Banners for festivals and flea markets flashed by. Time slipped away, but as the sun moved behind them, she knew they had to be at least half-way home.

When they reached the city limits of a one-red light town, he brought the bike to a stop in front of a convenience store. Next to it, a taco slash snow cone stand. Odd combination, but the aroma of grilled onions and peppers hung in the air, and Clarke's stomach growled.

Bellamy spoke over his shoulder. "You get off first. The bathrooms are inside and the last time I was here, they were decent. The tacos aren't bad either."

Clarke dismounted, removed the helmet, placed her hands on her hips and stretched. She was stiff all over and her butt was numb. Bellamy didn't seem too worse for wear. His windblown hair and face stubble only made him sexier. From inside, two teenaged female clerks gawked and pointed to the word painted on the metal saddlebags. Outlaw.

Bellamy swung his leg over the bike and adjusted his junk. The two teens widened their eyes. Clarke couldn't blame them. He looked like he deserved the title. If they only knew how bad he was, and by bad, she meant _good_. She shivered.

"You cold? I have a sweat shirt in my bag." He walked to stand next to her and pulled her into his arms. "Or, we can move the bike around back and I'll warm you up."

Clarke glanced at the teens inside. They were getting an eyeful. "Okay."

Bellamy sucked in air and coughed. "You're calling my bluff, aren't you?"

"Yes."

He laughed out loud. "Maybe later?"

"Maybe."

"That's my girl." He tilted her chin up and kissed her.

"Before we leave, I'll get us some tacos. There's a park right up the road. We can have a picnic."

Thirty minutes later, Bellamy found a good spot among the tables in the park, and killed the engine. Clarke had never seen a place so beautiful. A thick mixture of elm, oak, cedar and dogwood towered over the area with some of the leaves changing colors.

Crisp, cool air settled over her and she rubbed her arms. Bellamy pulled out the sweatshirt and draped it around her shoulders. She put it on, and headed to a nearby table where she tore open the sack of tacos and spread the paper bag as a place mat.

He unscrewed the lids on two sodas, passed one over, and joined her. She crunched her food and washed it down with a big gulp of Dr. Pepper. "It's so pretty here." A steady cadence echoed through the forest and Clarke sat straighter. "Is that a woodpecker?"

Bellamy answered around a mouthful of food. "Uh-huh."

For the next few minutes, she didn't speak, and neither did he. She enjoyed the silence. A nice change from the roar of the bike engine and highway noise. After they finished their meal, Bellamy gathered the trash and put it in a can a few yards away. He joined her again and looped his arm around her and whispered. "Let's rent a cabin and spend the night."

She scooted around on the bench and laid her head in his lap so she had a great view of those dark eyes. "We're only three hours from home. Don't you want to sleep in your own bed?"

"Sure, but I want to fuck you in a strange place more." He stoked her cheek.

"You did this morning. In the shower. That wasn't strange enough for you?" Overhead a hawk circled and landed in a tall oak. Clarke dragged the scent of damp earth and fermenting leaves into her lungs. The combination along with the trees, birds, and his fingers trailing down her face caused her toes to curl, and her resolve weakened for a moment. She closed her eyes. God, she could drift off to sleep.

"Yeah, that was good but having you pulse against me for two hundred miles has me horny as hell."

She felt the same way, but someone had to be level headed and neither of his heads reacted logically when it came to sex. But the lower one was definitely reacting now. She jerked upright and glared at his crotch. "Stop that! We need to get back on the road."

He followed her to the bike, laughing. "I hate you're wasting a perfectly good hard on."

She took her place and smiled at him. "It isn't like it's the last one you'll ever have."

"It could be. You never know," he quipped, smiling down at her.

"Stop talking."

He laughed harder and fired up the Harley.

By the time they reached Arkadia, it was seven o'clock. When the old house came into view, Clarke's heart accelerated. This is where she'd been safe. Made friends. Fell in love. Would she be able to leave here and still be happy? She wasn't sure. What if Bellamy refused to move? She needed to find out before the wedding because living apart was out of the question.

The thought of being without him overwhelmed her. She tightened her grip to get closer. Feel the warmth of him. He must have sensed her need because he placed his hand on her thigh, and her heart clutched. She wanted to climb inside him and stay there forever. She slipped her hand to his crotch and held it there.

He drove inside the shed, eased to a stop, and turned his head toward her. "What are you doing?"

She jerked off the helmet. "I thought you said if I did that, you'd know what I was doing. Leave the motor running." In a flash, she dismounted and stood next to him. "Stand up."

He pulled his brows together. "I like where this is going and damn glad I invested in a center stand." He kicked it into place to stabilize the bike and dismounted.

She knelt and removed his boots, then made short work of opening his jeans.

He didn't wait for her next move, he pushed pants and underwear off in one steady motion and kicked out of them.

From her vantage point and with the hum of the engine, she imagined it was like a scene from an porno. She bent to remove her shoes, then rose to her full height. He stepped closer, his eyes dark and hot on hers, and her mouth went dry, because she'd been thinking about this for the last fifty miles.

Grabbing the hem of her sweatshirt, he ripped it off bringing the undershirt with it. Clarke unfastened her bra and let it fall to the dirt floor. While she did that, he'd gotten her pants and panties down to her ankles.

She put her arms around his neck and he pulled her tight against him. "This definitely makes up for that long ride," he said, his voice husky, full of promise of things to come, and she said, "Get on the bike." More of a command than request.

Once he settled, she finished removing her clothes, then threw her leg over the seat and slid forward to connect with him. He pushed inside her with such force, it stole her breath. She took a few beats to let her heart calm, then moved against him with a slow, steady rhythm. Pressing her lips against his mouth, she spoke into it. "Will you be all right with living in Baton Rouge?"

His rough hands slid down her back, and she lost her train of thought for a second. Then he was kissing her. Long, slow kisses that made her hot and wet as she moved back and forth against his glorious hard length. "Will you?"

He broke the kiss. "What?"

"Moving. To Baton Rouge."

"Do we have to talk about this now?"

He leaned her against the handlebars and thrust into her harder and she couldn't think anymore. Only feel. His tongue against hers. His hands clamped to her butt, pulling her closer. Burying himself deeper. All that and the throb of the bike was making her crazy He nuzzled in her ear. "Say something."

She stilled for a moment. "Like what?"

"Use your imagination. You know what I like."

Her mind raced, drawing blanks.

He picked up his rhythm and every nerve in her body caught fire. With him wide eyed and pumping into her hard, she fisted the grips of the handlebars.

His upper lip curled, and he gritted his teeth as if holding back a scream. "One thing, Clarke. I want to hear one little sentence."

He licked into her mouth as if to coax out the words and all that heat flared to full flame. She'd do or say anything he wanted. Panic clutched her, then she regained her wits. "Je suis tellement heureux que nous avons un chien. Je pense qu'il aura besoin d'un bain." Even if he didn't understand she'd said, I'm so glad we have a dog, I think he'll need a bath, the language must have affected him, because now he was going at her with a vengeance. He rose from the seat, grasped her thighs with both hands, pulled her forward, and pounded into her like a madman. Grunting and growling her name against her throat. Suddenly, he grabbed a handful of her hair, jerked her head back, put his mouth to her breast, and sucked the nipple in hard.

A low guttural rumble she'd never heard before came from deep in his chest and he plunged one last time as he released.

Resting his head against her shoulder, he caught his breath and killed the engine. "I'm never getting rid of this bike. Damn, I'm sorry Clarke. I didn't even let you come. That French talk did something to me. I didn't hurt you did I?"

"No, and I did kind of have an orgasm from the motor vibration."

He chuckled. "First one today? Or was that happening the whole trip?"

She ignored the question. She was done with the subject. At least for now. "What about Baton Rouge? Are you going to be able to live there?"

He closed his eyes, then opened them and heaved a breath. Even before he answered, her heart cracked.

"No."

* * *

 **Sorry for the cliffy (okay, not really sorry.)**

 **Thanks for reading - and again, sorry if the french is off.**

 **How did yall like season premiere? It gave me LIFE. I'm gonna have to go watch it again for the bellarke. And Kane totally noticing his adopted son is in love with his future daughter in law.  
**

 **ANYWAY, just three more chapters left. As always, I love feedback. Reviews are how fanfic authors get paaaaid.**


	21. Chapter 21

Clarke flung her leg over the seat barely missing Bellamy's cheek. She grabbed her clothes, stomped across the yard and let herself into the house with the hidden key. Within seconds, Bellamy was right behind her, calling after her, but she didn't answer.

How could he do this to her? Come all the way to Austin, knowing about her obligations, and ask her to marry him but have no intention of living with her. She'd been so blinded by love and sex—oh, God, the sex. How would she ever live without that? Without him?

As she reached the bedroom, he caught up and spun her around. She shoved against his chest. "Why did you do this? Get my hopes up? Make me think you loved me enough to do anything for me? Well, I don't want to hear anything else from you." She went into the bathroom and slammed the door behind her.

"Clarke-"

"Stop talking. And go away."

"Not gonna happen. You know I keep a key right here above the door, so I'm coming in." He turned the lock and stepped inside. "You didn't let me finish. I can't live in Baton Rouge all the time. But since you're the boss, I figured you could set your own hours and it wouldn't be a big deal."

She looked at him. Big mistake. Defined muscles and broad shoulders. In spite of her anger, she wanted to touch him. She didn't have to wait long. He reached out and pulled her close.

"I love you, Clarke and if I have to live there to be with you, I will. But you've got to understand. Every bad thing that ever happened to me, happened there. My dad leaving. Mom dying. My friends. My freedom. Any good memories I had of that place have disappeared."

"Then we'll make new ones. I don't think I can do it without you."

"Then you won't have to. We'll work it out. Split our time between here and there, okay? But you can't freak out on me like that. Not everyone is as direct as you are, babe. If you want to know something, just talk to me, yeah? I'll answer any questions you have, but you have to tell me. Can we do that?"

She nodded against his chest, loving the way his arms felt around her. "I'm sorry I need you so much."

"Baby, never be sorry for that." He reached over and started the shower.

Later, when he fell asleep, she pulled the laptop onto her thighs and looked at wedding dresses.

After narrowing her search to four, she texted Aunt Becca to tell her of her plans and ask her to give her away. That, and to use Becca's credit card, since she didn't have one. She hoped she didn't have a stroke. That many dresses in two sizes, overnighted, tallied to chunk of money. Once she decided on the style and size, the rest would be returned, but still, Becca might balk. Finding that text first thing in the morning wouldn't be a great way to start her day, but maybe she'd be so happy to have Clarke come out of hiding, she'd trust her decision to marry Bellamy.

Next, she texted Keenan. Clarke wanted her at the ceremony. She was the closest thing she had to a mother. After that, she closed the laptop, snuggled next to Bellamy and tried to think about how they'd split their time between Arkadia and Baton Rouge.

* * *

The next morning, Bellamy woke to an empty bed and didn't like it much. The last few months without Clarke had been a miserable time.

She'd been restless last night, and when she'd finally dozed, he'd found himself staring at her. The too sweet girl. The plain spoken girl. The spontaneous girl. Holy hell, the motorcycle encounter had blown his mind, and the French about did him in. When he'd chuckled out loud at the memory, she'd fluttered those dark lashes, but didn't wake.

He didn't deserve her. He'd told her so in the shower and she'd said the sweetest thing. Maybe not, but I deserve you because you're the one I want. He'd kissed her then, his mouth a fever on hers, and she'd melted against him. That's how it was with her every time. And then he'd gone balls deep inside her and didn't give a shit if he deserved her or not.

He rolled onto his back and stretched. He sat on the edge of the bed and ran his fingers through his hair. No sounds came from the kitchen. No scents of cinnamon or bacon, so he figured Clarke had gone to Raven's to get Crassus. As quick as his future bride returned, he'd take her out for breakfast, then get the Big Day business underway.

* * *

Clarke got up early because she'd been too nervous and excited to sleep. In two days, she'd be married and had tons of stuff to do. Bellamy was still down for the count, so she dressed and headed to Raven's.

The forest was more alive than ever, or maybe Clarke's mood made it seem that way. She shuffled her feet scattering autumn leaves as she went. Two squirrels chattered playing a game of chase along a low-hanging oak limb. Birds sang. A cool breeze whistled through the trees. She inhaled and caught a whiff of lavender.

Within a few minutes, she arrived at the shop and pushed open the door. Crassus bounded from the corner and circled her ankles. Clarke leaned down to pet him. "Hey, boy. Look how big you are." He ran his tongue across her cheek and she shuddered. "Oh, no. Don't do that." She rose to her full height, went to the sink and washed the dog's kiss away.

Raven came from the supply closet and gasped. "Clarke. I mean, Lark?" She pulled her into a hug. "Which do I call you?"

"Clarke. I changed my name. I'm sorry I lied to you for so long."

Her friend flapped her hand in the air. "Please, if anyone knows about keeping a secret, it's me. I can't very well pass judgement." She plopped down on a stool and motioned for Clarke to sit. "Thank you for giving Wick a job. I just wish it wasn't in Baton Rouge."

"Why?"

"Tommy. He's so happy here, we hate to move him to the city. He's such a loner, we're not sure how he'll do there."

Clarke had not considered that, but she was an expert on not fitting in. "I have the same problem."

Raven raised her brows. "I don't understand. I thought you were raised in Baton Rouge."

"I was. My problem is Bellamy. He doesn't want to live there either. All the way over here, I thought about what I could do about that. What would you think about Wick flying back and forth a few days a week—or every day? The company has a plane."

Raven's eyes twinkled like Christmas tree lights. "That would be so great!" She vaulted from the stool and threw her arms around Clarke again. "We could buy a house here and Wick would be home every night. We wouldn't have to uproot Tommy. I can't tell you how much that would mean to me."

"I'll get it worked out. I'd better go. Bellamy and I are going to Breaux Bridge to get things ordered for the wedding."

Raven's brows rose into her hairline, her mouth dropping into an 'o'. She searched Clarke's face for signs of joking, but found nothing. Not that she expected Clarke to quip about something like that. "Holy shit. I mean, I knew it, but holy shit," she placed her palm to her forehead, and grinned down at Clarke, esconsing her into a tight hug that threatened to break her ribs. She told her as such, and Raven only laughed and gripped her tighter. "I don't know how you're going to put it all together in such a short time. I've been working for months and still don't have everything finished."

"Mine is simple. Bellamy, me and the minister. Oh, I ordered several dresses because I couldn't decide which one I liked best. When they get here, I'll need your advice."

"Glad to help, and that reminds me. Now that you're home, I want you to be a bridesmaid in my wedding."

"Oh, okay."

Raven grinned. "You know, you're about to be my sister-in-law and Tommy's aunt."

Clarke's hand flew to her chest. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Yep. The Blake-Wick clan, or something. I like it."

So did Clarke. For the first time in years, she'd have a family, and that made her happier than she could put into words. "Well, I have to go, I didn't leave Bellamy a note, so he doesn't know where I am."

"Okay, I'll see you later."

When she got back to the house, Bellamy was in the kitchen neck deep in the pantry.

She stood there watching him root around for a long minute. "What are you doing?"

Bellamy banged his head against a cabinet and cursed. "Fuck! You scared the shit out of me. I didn't hear you come in."

"You were talking to yourself."

She took two steps, and he stopped her. "Don't come any closer. While you were gone, I got a few cans mixed up. I'm putting them back in order."

"That's okay, I'll do it. Move out of the way." She tried to pass but he blocked her.

"No, Clarke. I'll fix it."

She craned her neck to see around him, then widened her eyes. "What have you done? None of its right!"

"Calm down. I'll have it back the way it was in no time."

She shoved past him, bumping him out of the way with her hip as if he personally offended her. "No! You've done enough. Step aside."

She got to work and when the last can was in place, she glared at Bellamy. "Don't ever do that again."

"I won't. I promise. Don't know how it happened. It got out of hand." He pulled her into his arms and nuzzled her ear. "Just another reason I need you. To keep the beans before the corn."

She frowned. "Are you being sarcastic?"

Then he kissed her and all her anger disappeared.

* * *

At noon the next day, the dresses arrived and Clarke took the packages to Raven's. After trying them on over and over, she'd let Raven, Octavia, and Harper decide, and she'd been happy with their choice. A white vintage inspired long sleeve, full length silhouette sheath, made of lace and tulle with intricate bead work. She smoothed her hands over the fabric and struck a pose.

Bellamy had found photographer, Nathan Miller, online. Once he'd seen the photo of the bride on the motorcycle, he wouldn't consider anyone else. Nathan had driven all the way from New Orleans, and had no idea who Clarke was, but he'd been suspicious when Wick demanded he sign a non-disclosure agreement, and not post any of the photos on his site for thirty days. "Now hold your bouquet down by your side and don't look into the camera."

Clarke snapped out of her trance and asked the photographer to repeat the instructions.

Raven adjusted her veil while Harper looked on. A gust of wind caught the tulle and whipped it into the air.

"Beautiful! Now, keep your body in that position, but turn your head to face me," Nathan said.

Clarke had been as determined about the treehouse as a backdrop as Bellamy had been about the Harley. He'd also insisted using a haystack in Raven's barn. Clarke knew the reason for that choice.

Miller opened his camera case. "Okay, that should be enough in this location. If the groom is gone, we can head back home for the motorcycle shots."

Harper nodded her head so fast, blond curls flew in every direction. "Oh, he's gone all right. Octavia practically had to shove him out the door. By the time he gets home, he may be three sheets to the wind."

Raven spoke up. "No, he won't. I gave Wick strict instructions not to let that happen."

* * *

At the bar, Bellamy leaned back in his chair and eyed Octavia. "You get the paperwork done I asked about?"

His sister opened a giant bag, removed a folder, and slid it to him. "Yep. Sign at the arrow."

"Should I read this before I sign it?"

Octavia knitted her brows together. "What? You don't trust me?"

Bellamy snorted, penned the document and passed it back. "We don't need a witness or anything?"

"Not since you initiated it. If Clarke had asked for the prenup, then yes, we'd want witnesses, but you'd be the only one to contest this, and a handwriting analysis would prove it's your signature. Besides, are you ever going to tell her about it?"

Bellamy put the pen to paper, then glanced at Wick sitting next to Octavia, shoveling limp, ketchup-y fries into his mouth. "Probably not, but hell, I knew I needed one when she tried to sell me half of Griffin Steel for a dollar. If it's clear to board members I'm not after her money, claiming her place in the company will be an easier transition. Be sure her aunt and the board members get a copy of it."

"Well, like you asked, this document overrides divorce or transfer of assets. No matter what happens, for the next ten years, if she dumps your ass, you get zilch." She smiled, inspecting her nails. "My contracts are ironclad."

Quiet until now, Wick leaned forward. "That will never happen. She's the only one who'd put up with his ass." Octavia snorted, agreeing. Wick finished his brew and signaled the bartender. Then he turned back to Bellamy. "Sure you don't want at least one drink?"

"No, I'm good. But I'm wondering how much longer it'll be?"

Wick grinned. "Raven said she'd text when the coast is clear. Until then, we've got to hang out here. Wouldn't want you to see your bride and start out with bad luck. This time tomorrow, you'll be a married man. Are you nervous?"

"No."

"No last minute jitters? No cold feet?"

"None. Why? You having doubts about yours?"

"Nope. Not since Clarke told me I can commute to work. Living in Baton Rouge during the week and only here on weekends hasn't worked for me. I've missed Raven and Tommy so much I've been miserable."

The waitress brought the drinks, then sashayed away. Bellamy turned to Wick again. "I have an offer for you." He glanced at Octavia. "Actually, both of you. If y'all want build on Charamel's place, I'll deed you some property. Free and clear. Or if either of you want to live in the farmhouse, Clarke and I will build something."

"I'm in," Wick said.

Bellamy laughed out loud. "Damn. I thought you'd at least want to discuss it with Raven."

"Are you kidding? No way in hell she'll turn down the offer, she wants to stay here for Tommy."

"O?" Bellamy raised his brows. "You interested in relocating? I bet you can get a job here somewhere."

She side eyed him. "No. I like living in Nola with my boyfriend. I don't have to drive ten miles just to buy M&M's." It wasn't a secret that she abhorred living in the country, where nothing was in walking distance.

"I get it. But if you change your mind, the offer is always on the table." Out of the corner of his eye, Bellamy caught sight of a man moving toward them. "Shit. What is he doing here?"

Wick and Octavia both turned to look, then Wick spoke. "Who is he?"

Bellamy rose from his chair. "The PI who's been looking for Clarke."

* * *

 **Just one more chapter left, and a epilogue! Yikes, I can't believe this is almost finished.**

 **I appreciate you guys reading, and I am always happy to get feedback and see what made you happy/mad/angry/sad/whatever about every chapter, it gives me life.**


	22. Chapter 22

Bellamy wasn't sure what category to put Wells Jaha in—friend or foe. The man seemed to be working both sides of the street. Out of character for an ex cop, and as much as Bellamy appreciated the head start the PI had given Clarke, the fact remained, he still worked for Diana Sydney-Griffin.

Wells set his briefcase on the table, stuck out his hand and Bellamy ignored it. "What the hell are you doing here?"

He pushed his palms out in front of his body as if surrendering. "No need for hostility. I'm here to help, not cause trouble."

Bellamy nodded toward the last vacant chair at the table. "In that case, take a seat. Only fair to warn you though, nothing—and I do mean nothing is going to mess up my wedding day."

"I understand." He turned to Wick and Octavia. "I take it you're the family."

"Yeah. I'm Wick, and this is Octavia."

"Nice to meet you both." Then he swung his attention back to Bellamy. "Here's the deal. I'm still employed by Mrs. Sydney-Griffin, and I plan to collect my fee. I've put in too much work not to get the final installment. So tomorrow morning, I'll notify her that Clarke is in Arkadia. Once I do, the widow will head this way with her jolly band of minions."

"So far I don't hear the helping part of this plan," Bellamy grunted.

Wells leaned forward. "I figure the quickest she can get here is one o'clock. Since your wedding is at two, I suggest you move the ceremony to an earlier time. Say—before noon."

"Why not just postpone your call?"

"Can't do that. Notification needs to look like I contacted her as soon as I located the girl. Besides, according to Keenan, all the wedding guests are already here, so it's not like you'll be waiting for a late arrival."

"I'll talk it over with Clarke. If she's good with it, then so am I."

"Okay, now that's settled, can I buy you guys a round of drinks?"

Wick drained the last from his bottle. "Bellamy isn't drinking, but Octavia and I will take you up on the offer."

Wells motioned for the bartender to send three more beers, then shouldered back in his chair, and focused on Bellamy. "Once you're married, Clarke might be safe, but you won't be. Diana can't kill her stepdaughter and gain anything. But she can off you and leave the girl vulnerable again. So, here's where my help comes in. While I've been searching for Clarke, I've had Diana under surveillance. And, I've investigated her all the way back to childhood."

The waitress brought the drinks and Wells took a long pull, then focused on Bellamy again. "She was in and out of foster homes until she turned sixteen, then she ran away. Turns out she spent time in juvie for breaking and entering. Had a real knack for picking locks. After that, she used her beauty to her advantage. Made a habit of hooking up with older men who had a little money, but once they couldn't afford her, she moved on."

Wells opened his briefcase and pulled out a folder. "Names and photos of some shady characters the widow Griffin has been dealing with. Also recorded phone conversations with incriminating evidence concerning plans for her stepdaughter. I'm telling you, Diana can get Clarke in a facility and take over the company before anyone knows about it. Once she has power of attorney, it will be hard to undo."

Thumbing through the file, Bellamy's gut clenched. Doctors, lawyers, and a judge willing to say or do whatever it took to prove Clarke incapable of running her father's company. Fake documents outlining erratic behavior. What? Attempted suicide? Bullshit. As successful as Clarke had been in hiding out, she'd be no match for Diana. Not with this many people on her stepmother's payroll.

Bellamy eyed Wells. "So, she fucked her way to the middle until she decided she could go all the way to the top with Jake Griffin."

Wells nodded.

Bellamy closed the file. "Why are you doing this?"

"A number of reasons. I've spent the majority of my adult life putting people like Diana where they belong. It took me a while to figure out what kind of person she was, but once I did, I decided not to let her get away with it. And everything I've learned about Clarke tells me she's nothing like her stepmother claims. Plus, I've fallen in love with Keenan and I have to be the man she believes me to be. The same way you feel about your bride, I imagine."

Bellamy couldn't argue with that.

* * *

On the way back to the farmhouse, Mother Nature reminded Bellamy that the ultimatum he'd spouted about nothing ruining his wedding day, didn't pertain to her. Because now dark clouds rolled in and made themselves right at home.

As he got out of the truck, he craned his neck toward the sky. "Come on. Don't do it for me. Do it for her. She deserves sunshine tomorrow."

Inside, the house was quiet, which caused his stomach to knot. He rushed down the hallway, stepped into the bedroom, and found Clarke clutching his pillow to her chest, sound asleep. He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed and kissed her cheek.

Her eyes fluttered open. "Are you drunk?"

"No. Are you okay?"

"Yes. I'm just tired." She pushed herself up and leaned against the headboard, then tilted her head toward the doorway. "Wick and Octavia with you?"

"Nope. Got the place all to ourselves. Raven came and picked them up because I rented rooms for them at the motel just outside of town."

"But I'm supposed to spend the night at Raven's."

"Yeah, we'll talk about that. Right now, I just want to get a shower." He headed to the bathroom, then stopped and leaned against the jamb. "We already act like old married people. Going to the bed with the chickens the night before our wedding when we should be having parties with strippers."

Clarke snorted. "We should?"

"Kidding, babe. You want to get in with me?"

"No. I've already showered."

Clarke was still awake when Bellamy came from the shower and crawled in next to her. "I want to move the wedding up to eleven o'clock. Is that okay with you?"

"Why?"

He pulled her into his arms. "The sooner we're married, the better."

That answer probably wouldn't be enough to satisfy her, but he'd be damned before he'd tell her anything about Diana.

Clarke trembled and the warm breath from her deep sigh floated across his skin so he clutched her tighter. "What's wrong?"

"Do you need to get it over with because you might back out?"

He loosened his hold, tilted her face to his and kissed her, then settled her against his chest. "The day I got out of prison was the happiest day of my life—until you accepted my marriage proposal. Then, the next day you climbed on my bike, wrapped your arms around me and held me all the way home—then that was the best day. Now, with you next to me, breathing in my air, this is the best. But, tomorrow, when you become my wife, that will be the best. Back out? Never."

She smiled, a little goofy. "Okay."

"Okay. Now, about going to Raven's. I want you to stay here."

"But you'll see me in the morning and it will be bad luck."

"You trust me?"

"Yes."

"Well, I promise I won't look at you. It'll be fine. Get some sleep. We got a big day tomorrow."

She snuggled closer, sliding her fingers under the hem of his shirt. He swatted her hand away.

"Nope. We're abstaining until we're married."

"You're just being mean. An orgasm or two would help me sleep."

He chuckled. "This might be a good time for me to watch you get yourself off. I'll even talk to you while you do it."

"Not happening."

He laughed harder. "Okay, but I'm going on record right now—that's what I want for my next birthday."

"Stop laughing. Do husbands and wives really do that? Watch each other?"

"Baby, anything a couple agrees to do together is okay. It isn't perverted."

"So, if I wanted you to tie me up and spank me—you would?"

"I said if both parties agreed. You want to make love in strange locations? I'm your guy. Try different positions? Hell, yeah. But I don't swing, swap, or do fifty shades of anything. I do something you don't like, all you have to do is say so, and I won't ever do it again. My job is to keep you satisfied. And believe it or not, that plays a big part in my satisfaction. Understand?"

"Yes."

"Good. Uh—you don't really want to be tied up and spanked, do you?"

"No. Just checking. But I do have a list of places I want to have sex."

He bolted upright, eyes wide. "You're joking."

She smiled slyly. "Nope."

"Like where?"

"Airplane. Boat. Car. Deck. Elevator."

Bellamy held up his hand. "Wait. Let me catch up." He repeated the places in his mind. After the motorcycle sex, he should have seen this coming. Of course she'd have a list, and it would be in alphabetical order. Life with her would never be boring. "Okay, between the two of us, we have those locations. Go on."

"Float."

"Like a parade float?"

"Yeah."

"Damn, that's a problem."

She smiled. "That's just the first eight places. Should I get my list?"

God, the woman drove him nuts. "No, and we're done talking about this because I'm getting a boner."

She widened her eyes and gave him the innocent look he recognized as fake. "Oh, then maybe I should watch you get yourself off. I can speak French while you do."

He gave her an exasperated look, but he was smiling. "Right now, spanking you sounds tempting."

* * *

Clarke opened her eyes and let them adjust to the dark. Outside, a low rumble of thunder announced bad weather. Rain on her wedding day couldn't be a good sign. At least everything she and Bellamy needed was already at the church.

Bellamy. She glanced at the clock. In just four hours, he'd be her husband. She smiled, remembering last night and how she'd gotten the best of him. But, even if she'd turned him on, he stuck to his guns. No sex. That was okay. She had a lifetime with him, and there'd be plenty of opportunities for that.

Then her heart raced. She needed to get out of there before he woke and saw her. Just as she scooted to the edge of the mattress, his hand touched her back.

"Where do you think you're going?"

She pulled the sheet over her. "Don't look at me!"

"Relax. I can't."

She lowered the cover and stared at him, then grinned. He'd blindfolded himself with his bandana. Moving closer, she ran her fingers over his lips. "Do you have any idea how sexy you look?"

He pointed to his eyes. "Duh. Blindfold."

"Oh—yeah. Well, you do. Super sexy. Just stay right there. I'm going to take your picture."

"Is it going to end up in a gallery?"

She jumped out of bed and grabbed her phone. "Maybe."

"At least I won't be naked. That will be an improvement."

As she snapped, he continued to talk. "Have you thought about what you're going to tell our kids when they see all the naked photos of their dad?"

She froze in place.

He sat up. "Clarke? You still here?"

"Yes."

"Come here. What's wrong?"

She eased onto the mattress next to him. "Kids. We haven't talked about that."

He felt his way up her arm to the nape of her neck, then cupped her face with both hands and kissed her. "You want kids, right?"

"What if I don't? Will you still marry me?"

"Yes. But why wouldn't you?"

"I might not be a good mother. I like order. I like things neat. Kids are messy. What if that drives me crazy and I fuss at them all the time? What if they turn out like me?"

"If they turn out like you, then they'll be great kids," he leaned back on the bed and made room for her next to him, then held her close. "And you'd be a great mom."

"But what if I don't?"

"Then we won't."

He answered without a heartbeat of hesitation, and in that moment she decided to have a dozen kids if he wanted. Besides, maybe he was right. She might be a good mother. She was a good cat and dog owner, and that was a start.

By ten o'clock, the rain had passed, and the sun shone from a watercolor sky. She'd been at the church for hours visiting with Becca and her wife, Peri, and Keenan. But now, they were all gone and her nerves were getting the best of her. She smoothed her veil and fidgeted with her bouquet.

"Stop picking at everything," Raven said.

Clarke frowned. "I can't help it. I think the hands on the clock are stuck."

"Good Lord. It's a good thing you changed the time. You would never make it until two."

Octavia rushed into the room. "Okay, everyone is here already, so there is no reason to wait. Let's get this show on the road."

Clarke stared at her.

Octavia waved her hands in the air. "Raven texted me. Said you're about to wear a hole in the carpet because you're anxious so I checked the guest list. We're good to go."

"The church is beautiful," Clarke said. She reached for Raven's hand, then Octavia's. "I didn't expect it to be decorated. Thank you."

"No big deal. Lincoln did most of the physical labor," Octavia shook her head. "Harper's dads the minister, so that was easy. Mother Nature provided the fall leaves, and I threw in a few pots of mums, tied some ribbon on the pews, and voila! Oh, and since you moved the time, your Aunt Becca arranged a catered lunch following the ceremony. It's all set up in the fellowship hall. I really should've gotten into wedding decorating, I'm so good at this." She placed her hands on her hips, looking like a fiery dark haired superhero, and Clarke believed her. Something about Octavia resonated in her that the girl could will things into existence by sheer force of will.

"Did I hear my name mentioned?" Becca stepped through the doorway and wrapped her arms around Clarke. "After I saw you this morning, I had a chance to spend a little time with your groom. I like him."

She broke Becca's hug and looked up at her. "I'm glad. Did you bring the ring?"

Becca reached into her clutch pocket and slid a wedding band into Clarke's palm. "Your mother would be happy that you're using the ring she gave your dad."

"I just hope it fits."

"Pretty sure it will. Bellamy and Jake are about the same size."

"Well, I'm going to tell the piano player we're ready to start," Octavia said.

Becca offered her arm. "I think that's our cue. You ready?"

Clarke slipped the gold band on her thumb, swallowed hard and nodded. With a deep breath, she curled her arm through Becca's and started the long walk down the hallway to her future.

* * *

Now that the marriage was official, a wave of panic washed over Clarke. As she changed from her wedding clothes into jeans and tee shirt, she thought about the earlier conversation concerning kids, and realized how little she knew about her new husband. Husband. The word caused a knot to form in her stomach.

No doubt she loved him and he'd said he loved her a million times, and she believed him. But was that enough? Sure, living together had provided some insights to his habits, but there was more to compatibility than not squeezing the toothpaste tube in the middle and liking the same foods.

She hung her wedding gown on the hanger and covered it with the clothes bag. It was the most beautiful dress she'd ever seen, and the way Bellamy had gazed at her when she'd appeared at the end of the aisle, he agreed. However, if he saw the price tag, he'd have more to say about her being rich. Which brought another question to mind.

Did he have debt? If so, should she offer to pay it off? Would they share a bank account? Would he ever be willing to live in Baton Rouge permanently, or would they have to fly back and forth forever?

Why worry about all this now—after the fact. She shook the thoughts from her mind and remembered how handsome her new husband looked waiting for her at the altar. When she'd joined him there, he'd taken her hand and kissed it, and she'd almost collapsed from happiness. And then later, during their first dance together, her heart pounded.

Someone tapped on the door, then opened it. Bellamy leaned against the jamb and smiled. "Mrs. Blake, you ready to go?"

She turned to face him, but with all the thoughts swirling in her head, she couldn't speak. Why was she questioning everything now? It was a done deal. But, yet a feeling a gloom settled in her chest like something bad was about to happen.

He must have sensed her panic because he rushed forward and took her in his arms. "What's wrong?"

She rested her forehead against his chest and drew a deep breath. She loved how he smelled and the comfort of his embrace. "We know so little about each other. What if we mess up?"

He released his hold, took her hand, led her to a small bench, and pulled her down next to him. "We will mess up, that's life. This was a rushed affair. It's natural that you have a case of jitters but I promise everything will be fine." He chuckled. "You already know the important stuff—like I prefer boxers over briefs and I can't see worth a shit without glasses or contacts, but ask me anything."

"This isn't funny."

"Sorry. I shouldn't joke. I can see you're serious, but nothing you say will make me mad. Especially not on our wedding day, so fire away."

"Do you have debt—and if you do, will you let me pay it off?"

He shook his head. "No debt. The state settled with me for all the years I was in prison so I'm okay. Next question."

"What about bank accounts and monthly expenses? I have more money than you. I'm afraid that will be an issue. I know we should have discussed all this before we got married…"

"Hey, I have no problem with you being rich anymore. I won't be living off you." He laughed, then his face morphed into serious. "I prefer a joint account, but if you want your own, I'm good with that, too."

This was going much better than she expected. He'd not challenged anything but this next question might change that. "Will you ever be able to live in Baton Rouge, or will we always have to fly back and forth?"

He stroked her cheek, then ran his fingers over her bottom lip. "Like I've said before, you're my home. Wherever you are that's where I'll be. But I'm not going to lie to you. It will be an adjustment, but if you give me time to ease into it, I'll make it work." He placed his hand beneath her chin and tilted it up. "Look at me."

She met his gaze. Those beautiful dark eyes she loved so much stared back with nothing but adoration.

"Look, sometimes I'm restless and reckless and a dick, but I love you. Even so, there'll be times when I piss you off. But you're my family now— and I'll be damned before I let anything or anyone come between us. Even my stubbornness. Understand?"

"Yes."

He stood and pulled her back into his arms again. "Okay. We good?"

She nodded, then tiptoed to kiss his throat. "I want to make you happy."

"Babe, you do." He leaned to whisper in her ear. "Do you have a church on that list of yours?"

She shoved away. "No!"

He laughed. "Just checking because if you did—I mean, we're already here, so no need to miss the opportunity."

She smacked him in the shoulder.

"I have a surprise for you."

"What?" She drew back, peering up at him.

"I know we didn't discuss a honeymoon, but I planned one—with the help of Becca. Tomorrow morning, we're flying to a cottage in Fishers Island in New York. We'll have the whole place to ourselves for a week. She even arranged for a staff. So we need to get home and pack."

"Okay. Sorry about all the questions."

"Hey, we're about to spend a week pretty much isolated from the world. That'll give you time to quiz me all you want." He wiggled his brows. "That is if we have time for questions."

Bellamy didn't have time to worry about Clarke's inquisition. For now, he hoped he'd eased her mind, but if not, he'd deal with that later. He had more pressing matters. Like making sure they got away from Arkadia before the wicked stepmother showed up.

As the farm came into view, his heart pounded. No strange cars sat in the drive which was a good thing. Wells had said the earliest Diana could arrive was one o'clock, but that was only if she walked out the door as soon as she got his phone call. Bellamy figured a woman like her couldn't be ready that fast.

He glanced at his watch. A little past one. His bag was packed and sitting by the front door. If his luck held, he'd have Clarke in the truck and on the way within the next forty-five minutes.

Octavia, Lincoln, Raven, Wick, and Harper weren't far behind him, so as soon as they arrived, the girls could help Clarke get her stuff together.

If trouble showed up before that, well, he'd deal with it. The only problem was he didn't know what to expect. He could handle Diana, but if she brought reinforcements, that would be a complication.

Bellamy parked in the carport, then looked over at Clarke, who'd been quiet the whole way. He took her hand in his. "Are we okay?"

"Yes. It's just our lives are about to change and I'm worried. Here at the farm, everything is so simple, but once I come out of hiding, it'll be total chaos. What if I can't handle that?"

"Things will change, but not us. Just different circumstances. I'll be by your side every minute. If any of it gets to be too much, I'll shut it down. Now, come inside. We'll get you packed and head to Breaux Bridge. I've booked us a room there so we'll be near the airport. In the morning, we'll fly out with your aunts, drop them in Baton Rouge, then go on the Fishers Island." He laughed. "I've only been married a few hours and I'm already getting spoiled by having a private plane at my disposal."

Clarke snorted.

He didn't give her time to answer, just opened his door and climbed out of the truck, and she did the same. Once on the porch, he fished the key from his pocket, stuck it in the lock and lifted her into his arms. "I've got to carry you over the threshold. Don't want to break tradition."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. Damn, he loved how she clung to him. Regardless of her fears, he had no doubt he'd spend the rest of his life with her because she was everything he wanted—all he wanted. He turned the knob and kicked the door open.

"Hello, Lark. Or is it Clarke now?"

"Diana," Clarke gasped. "What are you doing here?"

Bellamy's heart stopped. He scanned the room, then the deck. She appeared to be alone, which didn't make sense. His instincts went on high alert. Hair prickled on the back of his neck. Adrenaline coursed through his veins just as it had in prison when he sensed danger. He eased Clarke's feet to the floor and palmed his phone. "I'm calling the sheriff."

"Go ahead, but I wouldn't recommend it. I spoke with him earlier and explained the situation. How an ex-con has been taking advantage of my step-daughter, a mentally impaired heiress. But, she doesn't seem to be harmed in anyway, so I'm willing to overlook filing any charges if you don't give me any trouble."

She smiled at Clarke. "No need to get your things. We'll buy all new." Diana took two steps forward and slipped her phone from her pants pocket. "I'll call our ride."

"My wife isn't going anywhere with you."

Diana widened her eyes and placed her hand to her throat. "What are you talking about?"

Clarke moved closer. "Bellamy and I got married this morning and as my husband, he has all the power when it comes to my mental competence, which contrary to what you say, is normal."

Diana sneered at Bellamy, then focused on Clarke again and thinned her lips into a tight line. "Well then, he knows who you are—and what you're worth. You're stupid if you think he's married you because of love. He was in prison the last job he had was working at a bar. What kind of future do you think he can offer you?" She flapped her hand in the air. "Never mind. I'll answer that. None."

The transformation from socialite to bitch jolted Bellamy into defense mode. "I was going to ask how you got in, but I guess you've gone back to your old skillset of picking locks."

Despite her attempt to remain cool, Bellamy saw that his statement rattled her so he went on. "Yeah, I know all about you. The jail time. The men. How you used your body to move up the social chain. You're nothing more than a high-priced call girl."

She fisted her hands like a street fighter. "You know nothing about me!"

He didn't give her a chance to say more. "That's where you're wrong. I know every doctor, lawyer, whoever you have in your pocket. And for every one who'll do your bidding, I have two who will contest anything they say. I also know you don't want your circle of friends to find out about your checkered background. Be a shame if that got out."

"You might have Clarke fooled, but not me." She glanced back at her step-daughter. "Did you ask him to sign a prenup?"

Clarke bit her bottom lip and looked at Bellamy, then back at Diana. "No."

"Well, you're even more stupid than I imagined," she sneered. "Which goes to show you're incapable of running a company. This marriage is proof how easily you're influenced by the wrong kind of people."

Bellamy moved in front of Diana. "She didn't have to ask. You're still on the board for a few more weeks, you'll get your copy in the mail." He advanced on her and she backed away until the wall stopped her. He placed a palm flat against the wall on each side of her head and leaned in close and spoke between gritted teeth. "Now, get the hell off my property, and if you ever try to do anything to her, hurt her in any way, I will kill you. Are we clear?"

All the fight went out of her.

Bellamy pounded the paneling. "ARE WE CLEAR?"

Outside, the sound of cars arriving got his attention. He hoped it was his family and not Diana's minions. It was one thing to scare a woman, but men were a different matter. He backed away and stepped aside. "Leave."

She rushed across the room, then stopped next to Clarke. "You see what kind of man you've married? Mark my words, you'll regret it." She jerked the door open and disappeared.

Bellamy turned to face Clarke, who stood like stone, eyes wide, lips parted. "No, I won't. And just so you know, I've signed power of attorney over to him so you can forget about getting control of my father's company."

Diana took a deep breath and rushed from the room.

Clarke stared at Bellamy. "You wouldn't really kill her—would you?"

"I'd hire a hitman." Then he laughed. "Octavia would probably do it for free, though."

She pounded his chest. "Are you being sarcastic?"

He wound his arms around her, tucking her into his chest. "Yeah. Did you really sign over power of attorney to me?"

"Yes. Did you really sign a prenup?"

"Yeah, and it's written in a way that will override the POA. She'll know that once she gets her copy."

"No, it won't because my document predates yours. Octavia made sure of that."

He tapped her nose. "Smartest girl I know." Bellamy took her in his arms and kissed her. "I love you, Clarke. Always."

Octavia poked her head into the room. "Everything okay in here?"

Clarke and Bellamy smiled at each other, then answered in unison. "Everything is perfect."

* * *

 **AH. Just the epilogue left, and then we are done. Thank you for everyone who left reviews and whatnot, I always enjoy reading them and they always, always make my day (and make editing worth it, because that is the worst). Fanfic authors get paid in reviews :)**

 **Also, happy hallmark holiday. Did you know that St. Valentine is not only the patron saint of love, but also beekeeping, epilepsy, and the plague. Surprise your loved ones with bees and pestilence.**


	23. Epilogue

Clarke got off the elevator and stepped into the foyer of the penthouse located two floors above Griffin Steel's executive offices. She and Bellamy lived here during the week, but returned to Arkadia each weekend. So far, the arrangement worked.

She'd hired a decorator to change the interior from contemporary to farmhouse country, so he'd feel more at home. She'd lived in Arkadia so long, the style suited her as much as it did him. Next summer, she planned a balcony garden. He'd laughed when she told him she intended to grow tomatoes and peppers. He'd suggested throwing in some zinnias for good measure, and she'd taken him up on it, even though she knew he was being sarcastic.

Crassus jumped from the sofa and came to her. She leaned down and petted him. "Where's Bell?"

Lighted candles on every table bathed the room in a warm glow. She followed the path of rose petals from the entry, down the hallway, into the bedroom. A bottle of champagne chilled in a silver bucket. Soft music played on a pill speaker. A printed "Happy Birthday" banner hung across the headboard. Bellamy was nowhere to be seen, but the light in the bathroom was on.

"Bell?"

"Hey, babe. Take your shoes off, prop yourself against all those bed pillows, and let me know when you're done."

Her heart hammered. She didn't know what he had planned but whatever it was, no doubt she'd like it. She got comfortable and settled Crassus next to her. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Good. Now, take the iPod and push play."

The music started, Bellamy threw the door open, and began to dance, pantomime, and unbutton his shirt. Clarke's smile turned into giggles as he rolled his shoulders, slipped one sleeve down part way, then pulled it back up and wiggled his brows.

She took her bottom lip between her teeth. Crassus buried his head beneath the pillows.

Then Bellamy clutched both sides of his shirt, ripped it off, swung it in the air above his head, then tossed it to her.

She squealed as she caught it.

He grabbed the door jamb, gyrated against it, and undid the top button of his jeans.

She put both hands over her mouth.

Moving to the next button, he turned away from her, hooked his thumbs in the waist of his pants, inched them down, then back up. He twirled to face her, released another button and winked. "You want more?"

She widened her eyes and nodded.

Hands above his head, he hip swayed toward her, then stopped at the edge of the mattress. "Happy twenty-fifth birthday, baby." He lifted her off the bed and into his arms, then danced with her.

She took a deep breath and melted against him. "All the women were jealous today when I got flowers every hour. They think you're the perfect man."

"But you know better."

He twirled her, then dipped her, and planted a sweet kiss. "Are you nervous about the press conference tomorrow?"

"A little. Becca said we have bids from People Magazine, Newsweek, and three others to do an exclusive interview with me."

"Well, it's the official passing of the torch, and Diana disappears from the board of directors. That's plenty newsworthy. It's your call, but it's a good time to let the world know about the changes."

"You're right, but I don't want it to be all about me, so I've come up with an idea to shift the spotlight. What do you think about starting a foundation to finance education for prisoners or their children? I thought we might begin with the money we get from the magazine interview. I mean, you got your degree while serving time, and look how you turned out."

He grinned. "Yeah, but I seduced a rich girl to get ahead."

She punched his shoulder. "She seduced you. But that's beside the point. I was thinking of your cellmate, Murphy. You said he has a son. Maybe he could be our first recipient."

Bellamy let out a long sigh and looked at her with soft eyes, calloused fingers caressing her chin. "I'll never figure out how a sweet, kind, generous person like you fell in love with me, but I'm sure glad you did." He took her in his arms and covered her mouth with a hot, wet kiss. The kind that made her toes curl.

She leaned away and gazed up at him. "You're not so bad. I heard you hired Wells as head of security." He'd settled into a corporate job there much better than she'd expected and having him in the office adjoining hers was the best benefit of all. Becca still worked with both of them, but Clarke knew he'd be fine, despite his misgivings that he wouldn't do well in the corporate world.

"Yeah. I like the guy and he has the credentials. And since he's marrying Keenan that makes him practically family. Seems our social calendar is getting crowded with family events. Their wedding in two weeks. Raven and Wick's in three. Then your art show in New York. You okay with all that?"

"A better question is—are you okay with it?"

"Yeah, if you can put up with all my fans wanting to tear my shirt off to get a better look at the model." He broke into laughter.

"And they haven't even seen you dance."

"And never will. That's just for you." He dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Right now I want you to take a nice relaxing soak in the tub because I have dinner coming from The Bunker. All your favorites. Shrimp platter, filet mignon, chateau mashed potatoes, and since you can never make your mind up between the strawberry cheesecake and salted caramel chocolate tart, I ordered both."

She slid off his lap and pushed him back on the bed. "You know me so well."

He smacked her ass. "That's my job, babe. To keep you happy. So, get a move on. They'll be here at eight."

"That gives us time to mark the elevator off my list."

His grin was feral. "I like how you think."

She hooked a finger in a belt loop on each side of his jeans, tugged them down, and smiled. "Happy, happy Birthday to me."

* * *

 **So. First of all THANK YOU for reading All Roads Lead Home. This has been such a huge endeavor for me and I'm completely overwhelmed and blown away by the amazing responses I've gotten. It's been a journey.**

 **To everyone who has left comments throughout or even just once or twice: I am so, so appreciative and grateful for you guys. You don't know how much every little comment made me so incredibly happy. So thank you for that. I welcome any and all last bits of feedback you have.**

 **Another YUUUUGE thank you to yourmomshouse on ao3, who, without her, this would've never been finished. I was really apprehensive about a story where I really changed everything up, even for an AU. Not only was she a fantastic beta who whipped this into shape, she was also my cheerleader to actually continue writing it and give me advice on a number of things. So, thank you, thank you.**

 **Thanks again for reading, it's been awesome.**


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